


jsyd extras

by biblionerd07



Series: not playing a part [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2018-04-30 10:12:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 69,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5159909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblionerd07/pseuds/biblionerd07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Extras from "just say you do"; filler scenes, future snapshots, Bucky POV, etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bucky POV: Making Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> omg I already wrote 175k+ words of these nerds and here we are with more smh. Some have been posted to my tumblr already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Bucky's POV of the first scene of chapter 15, when Steve and Bucky are making French toast for their friends after the fireworks debacle at Coney Island.

Bucky’s making French toast, and Steve’s “helping” him. Really, Steve’s throwing him these sad little looks and trying not to let Bucky catch him. Like Bucky doesn’t notice everything Steve does. Finally, when Bucky can’t take the puppy-dog eyes anymore, he turns to Steve and gives him a bitter little smile.

“Guess that answers my question about how well I’ll do with fireworks, huh?” He jokes. He flips a piece of French toast and misjudges the strength in his arm. It splats on the counter.

“You did great, Buck,” Steve tells him in a rush. “Really. I’m proud of you.”

Bucky…can’t think about that. That’s going to take time to process, and he doesn’t have time right now. Every conversation with Steve goes fast, because Steve’s so quick and pushes back on Bucky. It’s great, it’s nice, but it doesn’t leave much room for Bucky to parse through his emotions.

“Yeah, well,” Bucky says with a shrug. “Next Fourth of July oughta be fun.”

Steve hands him a plate, reminding him to keep moving on breakfast. They’ve got a dining room full of hungry friends. And then Steve says, so casual and easy, “We should go to the cabin again next year. That was good.”

Bucky wants to just close his eyes for a second. They can’t go to the cabin again next year. In June, they have to get divorced, and they can’t spend July—Steve’s _birthday_ —together after they’re divorced. The Commandos would definitely have some questions.

Besides, Steve will have moved on by then. He’s halfway out the door already, and every reminder of that stabs at Bucky. He knows he’s the problem here. Steve’s sticking to the plan, keeping things light and fun between them, and Bucky had to go and ruin everything by falling for the little punk. He knows Steve doesn’t feel the same way, knows Steve will move on past Bucky with little more than a backward glance, because Steve is the kind of guy everyone wants to be around, so smart and strong and _good_. If it isn’t Peggy, it’ll be someone else, someone better for Steve.

Bucky also knows he can’t tell Steve how he feels, can’t tell him about that cavern in his chest that opens up every time he thinks about Steve leaving, Steve packing up, never seeing Steve again. Steve would be apologetic while he let Bucky down; he’s a good person, so he’d feel bad, and his pity would be the kind of wound Bucky won’t get over.

But even worse, Steve might stay. Steve’s the kind of guy who’d feel _obligated_ , feel like he had to his part to help out poor Bucky Barnes with his metal arm and his messed-up anxieties and his broken brain, because Bucky went off to war or just because Steve thinks other people should get what they want. Steve would shoulder the burden with the stoicism of a martyr, and Bucky would hate himself forever for doing it to him.

So Bucky blanks out his feelings, swallows everything down and makes his voice stay even and normal as he reminds Steve, “We won’t be spending next Fourth of July together.”

“Wha—” Steve stops when he realizes what Bucky’s saying, and Bucky can’t look at him, can’t see the lack of pain in his eyes when he thinks about the end of this little arrangement.

“Grab those eggs, will ya?” Bucky asks, voice steady as he turns his back so he can wince without Steve catching him.

It’s not even just that he’d love to stay married to Steve for real, get sleepy morning kisses without an audience, listen to Steve’s erratic rabbit-fast heartbeat every night for the rest of his life, hold Steve’s ink-stained, calloused hands whenever he wants and not just when people are watching or one of them’s breaking down.

It’s also that Steve doesn’t shy away from Bucky, not even when he’s in a dark space in his head and snapping at anyone coming close like a dog who’s been kicked too many times. It’s also that Steve doesn’t let Bucky get away with anything just because he got strapped to a table and stuck full of needles. It’s also because Steve looks at Bucky and just sees Bucky, not Sergeant Barnes, not James. It’s also that Steve has a chip on his shoulder at least as big as his too-caring heart, and the dichotomy between the two fascinates Bucky.

But Steve’s keeping his end of the bargain. He’s there, Bucky got his FAFSA filed, and Steve’s putting in his time. Bucky can’t ask him for more than that.

So he takes the plate of French toast into the dining room, and he puts on a big grin when everyone cheers, and he avoids the assessing gaze of Natasha. She unsettles him, because she’s always watching, and he’s sure she sees more than he wants her to. And when Steve comes in behind him with the eggs, Bucky joins the next round of cheers, and he sits between Dugan and Clint, and he doesn’t go out of his way to catch Steve’s eye across the table or brush their legs together. Bucky knows his place in this situation, and he’s trying his best to stick to it.


	2. Bucky's Birthday

Waking up before Bucky is a genuine hurdle. He still gets up so _early_ and Steve still does not. But it’s Bucky’s birthday, and Steve is determined to bring him breakfast in bed. It’s the Barnes family tradition, after all.

But the thing is, Steve can’t set an alarm to wake up early. That will wake Bucky up for sure. So, of course, Steve doesn’t wake up until Bucky’s slowly extricating himself from Steve’s embrace.

“No!” Steve groans, trying to pull himself out of bed. “Don’t get up yet.”

Bucky stops sitting up and squints at Steve, hair falling every which way. “What?”

“It’s your birthday,” Steve reminds him. “So…” He shrugs, blushing a little. “I had a whole plan, okay! Just lie down and close your eyes.”

Bucky’s smile starts slow, but he obeys, leaning back on the pillows and closing his eyes. “You got a surprise for me, Stevie? Is this an _open your mouth and close your eyes and I’ll give you a big surprise_ kinda deal?”

“You want a surprise in your mouth?” Steve asks. “Well, I had it planned the other way around, you know.”

Bucky makes an interested little sound. “Oh, you did, did you?”

Steve laughs a little and bends over to kiss Bucky. “I did,” he tells him between kisses. “I got a whole plan.”

Bucky slides a hand up to Steve’s face, holding him in place as he tries to leave. “Come on,” Bucky murmurs. “Change your plan. I think I got some better plans.”

“No, no, no,” Steve protests, even as he slides a hand under the waistband of Bucky’s boxers almost reflexively. “No, I gotta–” He bites at Bucky’s lip. “No, I got plans, okay?”

Bucky groans but lets go of Steve’s face. “Okay, fine,” he grumbles. “My guy’s a romantic and won’t just let me blow him on my birthday, God.”

That makes Steve laugh hard, but he gives Bucky one last kiss and pulls away. “Later,” he promises.

“Yessss,” Bucky cheers as Steve leaves. Steve does his best to be quiet as he makes breakfast, hoping maybe Bucky will go back to sleep. But he can hear Bucky moving around, so he yells,

“You better still be in that bed, Barnes! Five more minutes!”

“Bossy!” Bucky yells back.

“You love it.”

“I _would_ love it, if you were being bossy _in bed_ , but instead I’m allll alone in here!”

“Quit your whining!”

“It’s my birthday!”

“Shut up, old man!”

“You’re–” Bucky snaps his mouth shut as Steve comes in. Bucky is not in bed; he’s picking up Steve’s discarded clothes and putting them in the laundry hamper. He obediently climbs back into bed when Steve glares at him. “Okay, I’m here.” He grins broadly. “Gimme my surprise.”

“Now who’s bossy?” Steve points out, but goes on before Bucky can do more than roll his eyes. “Alright, we’ve got birthday pancakes, in very special shapes.”

Bucky peers at the plate and immediately cracks up laughing. Steve went to special pains to make the pancakes dick-shaped. He raises an eyebrow at Bucky. “I asked what you wanted for your birthday and you said dick,” he reminds Bucky. “Is this not what you had in mind?”

“I love you so much,” Bucky laughs. He grabs Steve’s hand. “Come on, get back in here. Please?”

Steve relents and sits beside him. But Bucky keeps ignoring the pancakes to kiss Steve. “Hey, eat your breakfast,” Steve scolds.

Bucky takes a bite and then offers one to Steve. “Eat some dick,” he says seriously. Steve rolls his eyes but can’t help but laugh. When the pancakes are gone, Bucky puts the plate and fork on the bedside table and tugs at Steve, pulling him into his lap and settling his hands on Steve’s hips, leaning up to kiss him.

“Do I get the real thing now?” He asks against Steve’s lips.

“Well, I was hoping you would,” Steve says, glancing down at his lap, cheeks heating up. “But…” He’s not getting much reaction, despite his best intentions and Bucky’s kisses and wandering hands. “Um, but I’ll–don’t worry, you’re still getting your birthday blowjob, okay?”

He starts to move down Bucky’s body and Bucky stops him, capturing his lips for a few soft kisses. “Hey,” he murmurs. “I don’t care. Just keep kissing me, huh?”

“But it’s your birthday,” Steve says. “I was gonna–it was my plan.”

“Steve.” Bucky gives him one of those smiles that make him smile back no matter what. “It’s my birthday. All I wanna do is kiss you until our lips fall off, alright?” He kisses Steve to emphasize his point. “I love kissing you. We’ll do the rest of it whenever we can.”

“Happy birthday,” Steve says. “I got real presents for you.”

Bucky pulls back for a second, looking at Steve’s face and smiling softly. “I already got the best present right here.”

Steve groans and laughs, even though his chest feels warm from Bucky’s words, even after everything they’ve been through. “That was so cheesy.”

“I can do whatever I want,” Bucky reminds him. “It’s my birthday. Now less talking and more kissing.”

Steve shakes his head, smiling, and does what the birthday boy wants.


	3. Hospital 2.0

It’s raining. Bucky scowls at the drops sliding down the window. He doesn’t mind rain, generally, but he minds when it’s fall and cold and makes his shoulder ache and Steve’s gone. He minds everything when Steve is gone. Steve’s gone a lot lately, now that his comic is getting popular and SHIELD wants him to do the convention circuit.

And Bucky is proud of him, and Bucky loves him, and Bucky is so happy that people are acknowledging Steve’s talent. Really and truly.

He just feels a little sorry for himself when he crawls into their bed all alone and the sheets are cold and there’s no one to wrap an arm around his waist and keep the nightmares at bay.

Steve was worried about leaving, because he always feels guilty when he has to be gone. Bucky can’t go with him because he has class; he could miss class, maybe, but he has a hard enough time keeping up when he’s _there_ for lectures, let alone when he misses them, and he has to keep his grades up now that he’s doing a robotics internship with Stark. Stark wouldn’t kick him out of the program, probably, but Bucky still has some pride left.

“Maybe I shouldn’t go,” Steve’d said while he was packing on Wednesday night, pausing with his arms full of jeans he literally just picked up off the ground, ignoring the way Bucky wrinkled his nose in disapproval. “I was just gone last weekend.”

Bucky, of course, couldn’t let him think that way, even though a not-so-small part of him wanted to agree. But this is Steve’s career, and more importantly, it makes him happy, so Bucky had just smiled up at him from where he’d flopped onto the bed beside Steve’s suitcase and put another pair of folded-not-rolled socks in next to his underwear.

“We can have Skype sex,” he’d suggested, and Steve had laughed hard enough to wheeze.

But now it’s raining and it’s 2 am on Friday night and Bucky can’t sleep and he wishes Steve were here instead of in Philadelphia. He’s woken up from two nightmares already and he’s just going to stay awake instead of dozing and jerking awake. He hasn’t slept well since Wednesday, the last night Steve was here. He opens his phone and looks at the last text he’d gotten from Steve, just after 11.

_Starting to feel kinda congested_ , he’d said. _My lungs are only used to New York pollution._

_You got Sudafed with you?_ Bucky had asked. He hasn’t gotten a response yet. He hopes that means Steve’s sleeping and not hacking up his lungs.

He jumps when his phone rings. It’s a number he doesn’t recognize, and the adrenaline flooding his bloodstream from the sudden intrusion almost makes him crush the phone with his metal hand. Luckily he’s gotten better at controlling that.

“Hello?” He answers.

“Is this James Barnes?” A woman asks. “Steve Rogers’s husband?”

“Yes,” he responds, heart thudding. “Who is this?”

“Mr. Barnes, my name is Alicia; I’m with the convention staff.” All the air feels like it’s left Bucky’s lungs. There’s only one reason the convention people would be calling him at 2 am. “Steve’s had quite an asthma attack,” she says. “He’s in the hospital.”

Bucky has to swallow hard and take a deep breath before he can speak. “Is he conscious?”

“Not at the moment,” she admits, and Bucky’s whole body shudders. His mind fills with images of Steve falling, Steve pale and cold in a hospital bed, shivering and crying with no one keeping his damn icicle feet warm like the last time he was in the hospital.

“How long’s he been in there?” Bucky snaps. “Why didn’t anyone call me sooner?”

“Mr. Barnes, it just happened,” Alicia placates him. “Some of the convention panelists were getting drinks together and he just—collapsed.”

Bucky’s brain is firing in a few different directions. What was Steve doing up so late? He needs to get more sleep to stay healthy. Who was he out with? He can’t even drink; going out to watch other people get drunk was too important to text Bucky back? But, weighing heaviest on his mind, Steve _collapsed_. And Bucky’s seen that happen, caught Steve when it happened. It was one of the scariest fucking moments of his life, and Bucky’s not a guy without fear in his past.

“Oh, God,” Bucky breathes. His hands are starting shake. Well, the right one is. The left one doesn’t tremble.

This can’t happen. Steve’s all alone in the hospital and he has his medical alert bracelet but what if the doctors give him something that reacts badly with one of his medications? He’s going to wake up without Bucky at his side—he’s going to wake up surrounded by beeping machines and hospital smell and Bucky knows how much Steve hates that.

“Mr. Barnes, the doctors said he’ll be fine,” Alicia tries to soothe him. Bucky’s pulling his pants on and isn’t really listening to her.

“What hospital is he in?” He asks. “I’m on my way.”

“Thomas Jefferson, but I don’t know if that’s really nec—”

“I’m on my way,” he repeats. “Is anyone in there with him? He can’t wake up alone.”

“Um, no, there’s no one in there right now, but I’ll go in until he wakes up.”

“Great, thanks,” Bucky says. “Tell him I’m coming. I’ll be there in an hour.”

“From New York?” He barely hears her say before he hangs up. He bites his lip and pulls up his parents’ number. He hates to wake them up so late, and especially with such bad news, but he doesn’t have a car. Driving’s not exactly something Bucky enjoys. Truth be told, he avoids it as much as possible. But it’s not like he has a choice.

“Hello?” His dad asks blearily.

“Dad.” Bucky’s voice comes out wobbly and he curses his natural tendency to cry.

“James? What is it? Are you alright?” George’s voice gets stronger, worried, and he hears his mother in the background ask, “What’s going on?”

“Steve’s in the hospital,” Bucky says, and his voice cracks around the words. “In Philly. I need to—can I come get your car?”

“What happened?” George asks.

“He had a bad asthma attack.” Bucky drags his sleeve across his nose. Damnit, he’s crying now. He probably could’ve held it together if he didn’t talk to his parents. “He’s unconscious.”

“Oh, no,” George murmurs, and Bucky hears Winifred repeat,

_“What’s going on?”_

“Steve had a bad asthma attack; he’s in the hospital. James, stay put, I’ll come pick you up. I’ll drive you down there.”

“No, Dad, no,” Bucky protests. “I don’t want you to have to do that. I can do it.”

“James, are you in any condition to drive?”

Bucky looks down at his trembling right hand, vision blurry with tears, and tries to keep himself from letting out a sob. He’s always been a bit of a crybaby, but it got so much worse after his capture.

“I—I don’t know,” Bucky says. He’s not really in any condition to drive on a good day, let alone now.

“I’m driving you,” George says firmly. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Bucky puts his head in his hands while he waits. He’s so useless. He’s so fucked up he can’t even drive when Steve needs him. He wishes, the way he does at least once a day, that he could keep a lid on his emotional reactions.

He sends out a mass text to the Commandos, Sam and Riley, and Clint and Natasha. _Steve’s in the hospital in Philly, asthma attack. On my way there. Tell you more when I know._

He knows Natasha will be the first to answer. Sam will probably be second. Dugan sleeps with his phone on silent, so he may not even get the text until morning.

_Do I need to come?_ Natasha asks almost instantly. _I can drive._

_My dad’s driving_ , Bucky tells her, feeling foolish. Of course he should have called Natasha or Sam first. They’ve known Steve longer than he has, and they’re both so much more level-headed than Bucky. They could’ve handled this better than he is.

_Keep me posted_ , Natasha says, no hint that she’s upset that Bucky went to his father before her. He doesn’t know if that means she isn’t upset or if she just isn’t letting him know.

_Call as soon as you can_ , Sam responds. _Doesn’t matter what time it is._

_He’ll be fine, Sarge_ , Gabe adds. _Cap’s too stubborn to go down that easy._

_You gonna be okay?_ Morita asks. _In the hospital?_

_I’ll be fine_ , Bucky says. It’s probably a lie, and everyone knows it, but no one calls him on it.

Bucky has tears sliding down his cheeks. He knows he’s overreacting. It’s an asthma attack. Steve has them all the time. But he’s never had one bad enough that he passed out and ended up in the hospital, not since Bucky’s known him. He’s terrified. Nothing can happen to Steve. Not only does Bucky not know what he’d do without Steve, but it wouldn’t be fair. Steve shouldn’t have to deal with all this. Steve deserves more.

Bucky bites his lip and thumbs open another text, fingers hovering a little as he debates whether or not he should do it. He shakes his head at himself and sends the text to Peggy.

_Steve had an asthma attack in Philadelphia, he’s in the hospital._ He doesn’t know if it’s appropriate to text her that at 2 am. She’s still Steve’s friend, but they’re kind of awkward with each other, and maybe he should wait until it’s actually morning. Maybe he should let Steve tell her, after the fact—as awkward as things are between them, it’s nothing compared to the discomfort between her and Bucky.

_Oh, dear_ , she responds. _I do hope he’s alright. Will you please let me know when you know more?_

_Absolutely_ , he promises. He was jealous of Peggy for a long time, and he’s not entirely sure that he isn’t anymore, but he’s not going to begrudge her this. He can understand wanting to know Steve’s alright. He thinks even if Steve left him tomorrow he’d still want to know these kinds of things.

He can’t think about Steve leaving, not right now.

He goes to wait outside, too antsy in the apartment with Steve’s rocking chair in the corner and a pair of his shoes in front of the couch and their pictures hanging on the walls. George pulls up not long after he goes out there, and Bucky gets in. As they pull away from the curb, Bucky realizes he really _should_ have called Natasha. Natasha would get him there as fast as humanly (and mechanically) possible.

But then George takes the freeway ramp, and he guns it.

“Dad?” Bucky asks, surprised. George is usually a very cautious driver. He brags about how he’s only gotten one speeding ticket in his life and it was only because Winifred was in labor with Beth and he couldn’t be bothered to obey the speed limit.

“We need to get to Steve,” George says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and then Bucky’s crying again.

They get to the hospital in an hour and ten minutes, and Bucky is honestly proud of his dad’s driving. He’d even cut someone off and called the guy a _slow-driving useless fuckwad._

“Steve Rogers,” Bucky blurts out to the nurse at the desk. “He had an asthma attack.”

“And you are…?”

“I’m his husband,” Bucky says, and he can’t enjoy the little thrill he still gets at saying that and _meaning_ it because he can smell the hospital and see doctors milling around and his palm is starting to sweat and he’s breathing too fast. His usual anxiety about hospitals and doctors is being compounded by worry and fear for Steve, and he needs to take a deep breath before he passes out, too.

George squeezes his shoulder and Bucky tries to focus on the sensation to ground himself. He’ll be fine once he gets to Steve.

“Room 415,” the nurse tells him, and Bucky tosses his breathless thanks over his shoulder to her as he takes off down the hall.

He pauses to take a deep breath just outside Steve’s room. He needs to keep it together. The hospital is already hard enough on Steve; Bucky shouldn’t make it worse by being a wreck when he gets in there.

But then he opens the door and sees Steve lying there, and he’s pale and the bed is so big and he looks so small. Bucky forgets how small he really is, sometimes, because his personality and his words and his life make him seem bigger. He’s alone, too, and Bucky thinks he might call that Alicia girl back and have a few words with her.

“Stevie,” Bucky breathes, rushing to his side and feeling tears welling up again. So much for keeping it together.

Steve cracks an eye. “Hi,” he says mournfully. Bucky rests his forehead against Steve’s temple, listening to Steve’s labored breathing, bringing his right hand up to Steve’s chest so he can feel his heart beating.

“How you doing, punk?” Bucky manages to ask. His voice is thick and choked no matter what his tough-guy words are, and Steve pulls an arm out of his blanket-burrito to wrap it around Bucky’s neck.

“Sorry,” Steve whispers. “I’m so sorry, Buck.”

“It’s not your fault,” Bucky tells him. “Not like you did it on purpose.”

Steve sighs. “But I’m sorry I scared you. I’m sorry you have to be here in the hospital again.” He shakes his head a little, taking Bucky’s with it. “Not even a year and a half together and you’ve had to be in the hospital twice ‘cause of me.”

Bucky presses a kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth, the only place he can reach without moving his head. “I’ll hang out in the hospital for the rest of my life if I have to.”

Steve laughs bitterly. “You probably will, now that you’re stuck with me.”

Bucky brings his hand up to Steve’s face and moves so he can give him a proper kiss. “I love you,” he says, because there’s nothing else to say when Steve gets in this kind of dark mood. Bucky can’t say _it’s fine_ or _I don’t mind_ because it’s not about how he feels—Steve is mad at himself, mad at his body, and Bucky can’t even say _you’re perfect_ , which is what he really and truly believes, because Steve won’t listen to it right now.

“I love you, too,” Steve says, though he still sounds pissed, and Bucky reminds himself Steve isn’t mad at him, no matter what the little asshole voices in his head are trying to tell him.

“Scoot over,” Bucky orders. “Your feet must be freezing.”

That coaxes a little smile out of Steve, and Bucky has no choice but to smile back. “They’re not warm,” Steve agrees, shuffling over to make room.

“Oh, wait,” Bucky says. “My dad’s out in the hall.”

“Shit, I got your dad out of bed?” Steve looks guilty and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“ _I_ got my dad out of bed, because I’m fucked up and can’t drive.”

Now Steve looks fierce. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” he protests. “I mean, okay, medically there _are_ a few things wrong with you. But—” He breaks off because Bucky is laughing.

“When can we spring you from the joint?” Bucky asks. Steve sighs again.

“I don’t know, you know how doctors are. They’ll probably make me stay for a _week_ or something.”  
“Dumb doctors, wanting to make sure you’re breathing,” Bucky teases. Steve rolls his eyes.

“They’re keeping me until morning for observation. You don’t have to—”

“I’m staying, you know that,” Bucky cuts him off. “Let me just go talk to my dad and see what he wants to do.”

Steve grabs his hand just before he turns around and gives it a tight squeeze. “Thanks, Buck. I—thanks.”

Bucky has to lean down and kiss him for that, because he knows what Steve means: _I’m scared, I’m cold, I hate this_. “Any time,” Bucky promises, smoothing Steve’s hair back from his forehead. “Every time.”

George is sitting on a chair outside Steve’s room, reading a magazine, and Bucky laughs a little because his father can somehow conjure up something to read no matter what the circumstances are.

“How is he?” George asks, looking up. “Is he awake?”

“Yeah, he’s alright,” Bucky says, feeling exhausted. “Spitting mad, but what else is new? You want to go in and say hi?”

Steve looks chagrined when George comes in. “Sorry,” he says immediately. “Sorry to get you out of bed in the middle of the night.” Bucky gives him a dirty look that he ignores.

“Steve,” George says seriously. “It’s not a problem. You’re my son now, and I love you. I will come whenever you need me.”

Steve’s biting his lip, eyes shining with tears, and Bucky’s throat feels a little tight, too. He knows what it means to Steve to hear that, but he didn’t really realize how much it would mean to _himself_ to hear that. He knows his parents love Steve, but he’s so glad his father just said it out loud. Steve doesn’t hear that enough. Although Bucky can admit that he doesn’t know what he thinks would be enough. Steve should hear it all day every day.

“We should call Winifred,” George goes on like he didn’t just level both the young men in the room with an emotional bomb. “She’s probably beside herself at this point.”

Steve takes the phone when prompted, and he does a lot of nodding and looking guilty over how worried he’s made Winifred, and he keeps saying, “I promise I’m okay. I promise. I’m sorry for scaring you.”

His lips tighten in response to whatever she’s saying, and he chokes out, “Okay, thanks,” and hands the phone back to George. Bucky takes his hand.

“He’ll be fine,” George promises on the phone. “I’ll call you before we leave. Try to get some sleep, honey. I love you.” He hangs up and looks at them expectantly. “So, I’m guessing you’ll be here until morning?”

Steve winces a little. “Yeah. I already have a train ticket home, though.”

“You can go home, Dad,” Bucky says. “I’ll ride the train back with Steve.”

George looks intensely unimpressed. “Oh, yes, I’m going to let you ride the train home after you get discharged from the hospital, and I’m going to let _you_ ride a hundred miles on a train knowing how anxious trains make you. I’m that kind of man. And my wife wouldn’t kill me for it.” He rolls his eyes. “I’ll check into a hotel until you’re cleared.”

“Thank you, George,” Steve says, all earnest. George just nods. He’s already said a lot, and he’s not much of a talker usually. Bucky hugs him tightly before he leaves.

“Thanks, Dad,” he whispers, and George gives him an extra squeeze before letting go.

“Call me in the morning,” he says, and then he leaves. The magazine is rolled up in his back pocket, and Bucky is 100% positive he’s going to steal it from the hospital.

Bucky climbs back into the bed with Steve, all his limbs feeling heavy with the crash now that he knows Steve’s okay. He pulls Steve to his chest, wrapping his arms around him snugly and putting Steve’s cold feet between his calves.

“I missed you this weekend,” Steve tells him, voice a little muffled from Bucky’s collarbone.

“You could’ve just called, you know,” Bucky scolds. “Didn’t have to go fainting over it.”

Steve snorts and pinches Bucky lightly. “You’re so vain. I did not give myself an asthma attack just to see you.”

“Okay, Steve,” Bucky says, pretending to be dubious. “Whatever you say.”

“If I was going to go through that much trouble for you I’d at least expect some sex out of it,” Steve points out, like they’re normal people who can have sex whenever they want instead of two heavily-medicated guys who’ll nudge the other awake at 4 am and whisper, _hey, I’m hard, are you?_ once a week if they’re lucky.

“Mm, there’s your real plan,” Bucky says, his voice starting to get slow with sleep. He’s so tired, and Steve’s here. His body naturally feels more comfortable and safe with Steve here.

“You been sleeping while I was gone?” Steve asks, sounding a little concerned. Bucky musters up a shrug, and Steve frowns because he knows that’s a negative.

“Could sleep now,” Bucky mumbles. “If you’d quit talking.”

“That’s so rude,” Steve sniffs. “I’m in the fucking hospital and you just want me to shut up.”

Bucky laughs a little, but he’s more than half asleep at this point, and he feels so good with Steve’s hand up the back of his shirt rubbing against his skin.

“Need to call Sam and Natasha,” Bucky slurs out. “They’re worried.”

“Shh, go to sleep,” Steve says. “I’ll do it in the morning. I texted them before you got here. They know everything’s alright. The Commandos, too.”

Bucky hums a little, eyes closed now. “Peggy.”

“She texted me, too.” Steve’s hand is running up and down Bucky’s side and it’s pushing him even further toward sleep. “Thanks for telling her, Buck.”

“She’s your friend,” Bucky manages to say. Everything feels slow-motion. He’s really tired, and it’s warm here with both of them in the bed.

Steve nestles in closer, tucking his head under Bucky’s chin the way Bucky loves because he’ll never get tired of the way their bodies fit together so perfectly, and sighs a little, nuzzling at Bucky’s neck.

“I love you, Buck,” he murmurs.  
  
“I love you, too,” Bucky says, and he falls asleep and doesn’t wake up until morning.

  
Natasha comes over when they get home, and it makes Bucky nervous. Natasha always made him nervous back before he and Steve got their asses in gear and got together, because he knew she could tell how he felt about Steve and he was terrified she was going to tell Steve. He was even more terrified that she _wouldn’t_ , that she’d think Steve was better off without him and let their fake marriage end without Steve clueing in.

Now, though, he’s worried he hurt Natasha’s feelings. He can’t imagine many people have done that and lived to tell the tale.

She does her teasing thing that’s veiled concern through insults, and Steve rolls his eyes but looks pretty animated. He gets up to go to the bathroom, and it’s all Bucky can do not to follow him just so he’s not in the room alone with Natasha.

“Why are you so nervous?” She asks as soon as the bathroom door shuts behind Steve. Bucky gulps a little.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you first,” he says. “I’m sorry I went to my dad instead of you.”

She’s quiet for a beat, tilting her head as she examines him, and he doesn’t squirm only because he learned to hold every muscle still as a sniper.

“Why are you sorry for that?” She finally asks.

Bucky blinks. “Well, you’ve known Steve longer than I have. You and Sam were probably his emergency contacts before I came along. You should’ve been the first person I thought of.”

She goes back to looking at him again. “I was one of Steve’s emergency contacts,” she confirms. “But I’m not mad that you are now.” She glances toward the hall, probably checking to see if Steve’s coming back, but the toilet hasn’t even flushed. “I’m happy you and Steve found each other. You’re good for him. And you’re good _to_ him. That’s what I care about. He’s very happy with you.”

“But you’re his family,” Bucky says, and that makes her smile a little.

“I am his family,” she agrees, and Bucky doesn’t know everything about her childhood but he knows it’s a big deal for her to say that. “But you’re his immediate family now. And you’re lucky that your first thought is to call your parents for help. I’m glad you have that.” She looks at him very seriously and takes his hand in hers. “I spent a lot of years being angry at people for having that. But not anymore. Your family is Steve’s family. They love him. And that’s all I’ve ever wanted for him.”

Bucky can’t even talk. He has tears in his eyes. As usual. He nods a few times and she takes her hand away. When he finally looks at her again, she’s smirking at him.

“What did you think I was going to do to you?” She asks, laughter in her voice, and Bucky suddenly thinks if he was attracted to women he could fall in love with her. It’s a strange thought, and a strange statement to prompt the thought, because he was thinking of some kind of dismemberment and she knows it.

“Who says I thought you’d do anything to me?” He bluffs, and it only makes her smirk harder. Steve finally comes back from the bathroom, the look on his face overly innocent, so Bucky knows he picked up on Bucky’s worry about Natasha and purposefully left them alone to hash it out. He’s struck by the desire to grab Steve around the neck and give him a noogie, but he refrains. Steve just got out of the hospital. The noogie will keep.

Steve’s phone buzzes. “Sam and Riley are going to come over,” he announces, just as Bucky’s phone buzzes.

“Oh, so are you the Commandos,” Bucky says. He gives Steve a look. “Are you up for that many visitors?”

“Course I am,” Steve says, even though he sat down pretty heavily and is listing to the side just a little.

“Clint’s on his way, too,” Natasha adds, sounding a tiny bit guilty. Bucky’s phone buzzes again.

“Bailey and Beth want to come over.” Another text. “Oh, and Jamie wants to Skype you. Annnd my mom is bringing soup.”

Steve laughs a little and shakes his head. “Getting out of the hospital never made me this popular in high school.”

“Well, you went to high school with a bunch of dumbasses,” Bucky declares absently, one arm wrapped around Steve and the other hand texting.

“That much is true,” Natasha agrees. “But I can go. Clint and I can see you tomorrow.”

Bucky stops texting to smile at her. Natasha reads Steve so well, and she’s always ready to give him space when he needs it. Steve, of course, isn’t going to take it; his chin is jutting stubbornly and Bucky and Natasha share an eye-roll over it.

“I want to see everyone,” Steve insists. Bucky calls that particular tone of voice pouting but Steve gets all hot under the collar when he says it, so he’ll wait a few days until he’s more sure Steve’s breathing is under control.

“Alright, alright,” Bucky mutters. “But I’m telling ‘em all to be chill.”

Natasha snorts. “Chill? Have you met our friends?”

Steve laughs. “Quit nagging and worrying. I’ll be very calm and I’ll stay sitting down the whole time so I can’t get worked up.”

Bucky scoffs a little, because sitting down is definitely not a guarantee not to get worked up, especially from Steven Grant Rogers (he was certainly sitting during the great Monopoly tirade), but he doesn’t argue.

Soon the apartment is full to bursting with well-wishers and soup and, of course, rolls. Bucky looks over at one point and sees the giant, contented smile on Steve’s face and he has to take a minute to just look around. His family is there, his best friends are there, and Steve is there. He still has bad days—and bad nights—but his life is so much better than he thought it could be.

“What are you smiling about?” Steve asks, his own face lit up with a grin. Bucky sighs a little, chest warm, and tucks his face into Steve’s neck.

“We have a good life,” he says. Steve rubs a hand down Bucky’s back gently.

“Yeah, Buck,” he says, voice soft and fond. “We really do.”


	4. High School Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set during the time-jump in jsyd, after Steve and Bucky get together but before their one-year anniversary. It is somewhat angsty, as all of these seem to be.

Steve and Bucky are on the subway when the voice calls out, “Hey, Bucky!”

They both turn to look and there’s a guy around their age grinning and waving. Steve looks over at Bucky to see if he knows who the guy is. Bucky smiles, so Steve assumes that’s a yes, although it’s a little hesitant.

“Hi, Jake,” Bucky says. Jake makes his way over to them.

“Man, it’s been forever!” Jake says. “You didn’t come to the five-year reunion!” Bucky looks uncomfortable and Jake freezes. “Oh,” he says, cringing. “Shit, sorry, man.”

Five-year reunion sounds like high school, and a little quick math in his head tells Steve the five-year reunion probably happened while Bucky was captured and assumed dead.

Yikes.

“Sorry,” Jake repeats awkwardly.

“Uh, don’t worry about it,” Bucky says with a shrug. “Hey, Jake, this is Steve.” Bucky puts his arm around Steve’s shoulders. “My husband.”

Jake blinks and his smile looks a little fixed. “Husband, huh?”

Steve tenses, ready to fire back if need be, and Bucky’s arm around him tightens.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Husband.”

“Didn’t know you were _ever_ gonna settle down,” Jake laughs. Steve relaxes a little. “Aw, shit, this is me,” Jake adds, gesturing out the window. “Listen, man, Mike’s having a party tomorrow night—you should come! There’ll be drinks and guys from the team. We miss you!”

“Oh,” Bucky says. “Um.”

“I’ll send you a message on Facebook, okay?” Jake asks, turning around without waiting for an answer. “See ya!”

Steve raises an eyebrow and Bucky shakes his head. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” Steve asks. “Weren't they your friends in high school?”

Bucky shifts. “Steve, I don’t—I wasn’t out.”

“Jake seemed to take it fine,” Steve points out mildly. He doesn’t really care if Bucky goes to the party. They don’t have plans tomorrow night, and he knows he sort of monopolizes Bucky’s time now even more than he did before they figured things out a few months ago.

Bucky rubs the back of his neck anxiously. “I guess.”

“Hey.” Steve hooks his hand in the crook of Bucky’s elbow. “You don’t have to go. But if you want to, I don’t think you have anything to be nervous about.”

“I’ll think about it,” Bucky decides. Steve crashes into him when the train starts moving again, because the hand he tucked into Bucky’s elbow was the hand that should’ve been holding onto the bar, and Bucky huffs a laugh. Steve kind of forgets about the whole thing for the rest of the day.

But that night, Bucky’s frowning at his phone, biting his lip, and Steve remembers the promised Facebook message. He plops down next to Bucky on the couch.

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

Bucky makes a face. “Just…this party.”

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Steve tells him. Bucky shrugs, and Steve raises his eyebrows. “But you _do_ want to.”

“I don’t know,” Bucky mutters.

“Buck.”

Bucky sighs. “I don’t know, I guess. I mean—I don’t know.”

Steve tips his head down to rest on Bucky’s shoulder. “It’s okay to want to see your old friends.”

“I just don’t…I don’t feel like I’ll fit in with them anymore. I can’t sit there and talk about football.”

“Why not?” Steve asks. “You talk about football with your dad.”

“Yeah, but when my brain shuts down while I’m talking to my dad he doesn’t act like I’m a psycho.”

Steve nestles his face further into Bucky’s chest. “You’re not a psycho. I’ll kick anyone’s ass who acts like you are.”

Bucky laughs a little and runs a hand through Steve’s hair. “Such a big tough guy now, huh?”

“I’ll fight for you, even though I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

Bucky snorts so loud and so long Steve’s worried he’s going to have snot in his hair. “I can’t believe that phrase just came outta your mouth.”

“I’ll give you some phrases outta your mouth,” Steve mutters nonsensically. Bucky laughs at him and then they’re quiet for a minute.

“Will you come with me?” Bucky asks quietly. “You make everything…easier.”

Steve’s heart swells a little in his chest. It’s hard to beat the feeling of being told he helps Bucky and makes life easier for him.

“Course I will,” Steve promises, tilting his head up so he can look at Bucky. “If you want me there, I’m there.”

Bucky quirks a little grin at him. “Guess you have to start coming to class with me, too. And work. ‘Cause I want you everywhere.”

Steve huffs and rolls his eyes, but he can feel his cheeks heating up. “Sap.”

“Yeah, but you’re blushing,” Bucky points out triumphantly, still stroking Steve’s hair. Steve elbows him lightly. “You don’t actually have to come with me,” Bucky adds. “I know it’s not really your scene.”

“Okay, you give me that cheesy line and then say I don’t have to come?” Steve scoffs. “Please.”

“You don’t have to,” Bucky repeats. “I don’t want you doing things because you feel obligated.”

Steve sighs and sits upright, pulling himself away from Bucky’s arms. “Bucky, how many times do we have to have this conversation? I _love_ you. I’m not here because I think I owe anybody anything.”

Bucky exhales loudly. “I—I know,” he says. “I just…”

“You don’t think you’re worth it?” Steve asks softly. Bucky swallows and Steve pulls his face forward to kiss him. Bucky sighs into it, a hand coming up to cup Steve’s face.

“I’ll go with you tomorrow,” Steve whispers. “And I’ll be here every day, forever, so you better start believing me. Okay?”

Bucky rests his forehead against Steve’s. “Okay,” he agrees. “I’m sorry.”

Steve shakes his head. “Nothing to be sorry for, Buck. We both know in three days we’re going to be having the same conversation on different sides.”

Bucky laughs a little, shakily. “You better not be saying any bullshit about my husband.”

Steve rolls his eyes and curls back into Bucky’s arms. “Hypocrite,” he mutters.

“More to love,” Bucky counters, and Steve can’t hold back his laugh.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me.”

“God help me.”

  
Bucky takes a deep breath before knocking on the door. Steve has a little flash of déjà vu from the last frat party they went to. At least this time he’s been holding Bucky’s hand all day. The door swings open and Bucky tenses.

“Barnes!” A guy yells. The room erupts into excited noise and Bucky squeezes Steve’s hand tighter. Steve’s not sure who the support is for. Guys are gathering around to greet Bucky, big guys who are obviously jocks, and Steve’s first instinct is to cringe. He doesn’t have a great track record with groups of jocks, Howling Commandos notwithstanding.

“Jake said this is your, uh, husband,” one guy says, looking at Steve. “That’s…”

“Cool,” Jake supplies, a little warningly. “That’s cool.” Steve likes him.

“No, yeah,” the guy agrees hastily. “Totally cool. Nice to meet you, little dude. My name’s Mike.”

Steve can’t help but scowl. Little dude? Bucky squeezes his hand again before releasing it to fist bump a few of his old friends.

“This is Steve,” Bucky says.

“I never woulda thought you were—like that,” another guy pipes up. He looks uncomfortable. “I mean…shit. It’s cool, man, whatever, long as you weren’t perving on me in the showers.”

Bucky’s jaw is a little tight, but he throws the guy a grin and says, “Oh, come on, Lewis, no one would perv on _you_ in the showers.” Everybody laughs and Lewis rolls his eyes.

"It does explain why you were always so good at leg-riding," a guy in the back guffaws, making everyone laugh again.

“Dude, did you hear about Clara?” Mike asks. “She’s a fucking _model_ now. Can’t believe you let that go.”

“Uh.” Bucky scratches his ear and laughs a little. “Really?”

A bunch of the guys crack up laughing, though Steve can see a few exchange dark looks. They’re not all as cool with it as Jake.

“But seriously, how could you _not_ like tapping that?” One of the other guys asks. “If you were tapping that. And I thought you were, with what we know about Clara.”

Bucky swallows, biting his lip. “Come on, man. Don’t talk about her like that.”

The guy snorts. “Now I know why you were all don’t-kiss-and-tell gentlemanly,” he says. “You weren’t actually getting any!”

“Shut up, Carson,” Jake snaps. “Don’t act like we’re still in high school.”

“Bucky’s always respected women and all that shit,” another guy says. “Always making sure girls at parties were okay.”

Steve looks over at Bucky and smiles. “Yeah, Buck’s a good guy.”

Bucky’s turning red, and Steve sees one guy pull a face. He can feel indignation building up. He’s trying to keep a lid on it, since these people are Bucky’s friends—or were, at one point—but he doesn’t know how long it’ll last.

“How’d you meet? You didn’t go to our school, did you, Steve?” Jake asks.

“Uh, no,” Steve says. “We met…” He hesitates, glancing at Bucky.

“We met at the VA,” Bucky fills in steadily, their usual cover story. Some of the levity leaves the guys’ faces as they remember that Bucky went to war.

“We’re real grateful,” Lewis says. “For you, you know, protecting our freedom and all that.”

Bucky’s lips twist a little in what could be a smile if you don’t know him. “Thanks,” he says flatly, shooting Steve the tiniest eye-roll. Bucky has some less-than-noble feelings about the military these days.

“Yo, Barnes,” a guy yells from across the room. “You owe me a goddamn foosball game!” It startles a laugh out of Bucky, a real one.

“Hadley, have you really been waiting this long to get your ass handed to you?”

Hadley snorts. “Like you ever won a game of foosball.”

“Like I ever _lost_ a game of foosball!” Bucky counters, sauntering over to the table in the corner. His voice is different than Steve’s heard it—he’s heard Bucky be mockingly cocky before, has heard him confident and all puffed-up in pride, but this is different somehow; cocky and light as air.

“You want a beer?” Mike asks Steve.

“Oh, no thanks,” Steve says. “I actually don’t drink.”

“You don’t drink?” Mike asks. “What are you, some kinda religious fanatic?”

“Uh, no,” Steve says. “I mean, I was raised Catholic but...” He shakes his head a little. “I just…don’t drink,” he finishes lamely. He doesn’t really want to get into his medical history.

“Did all your hard drinking in high school and college?” Mike asks knowingly. “I’ve slowed down, too. Shit, man, you shoulda seen Barnes back in the day. Boy could put it _away_.”

“Life of the party,” Jake agrees. “Remember that time we went to your backyard and played basketball?”

“Still made every shot even though he couldn’t even see straight!” Mike hoots. “And then the neighbors called the cops and he stood there and shot the shit with the officers like we weren’t all shit-faced and underage.”

Steve can’t really picture it. Bucky’s charming, of course, but he’s not exactly the life of the party these days. He’s more likely to be hiding in a coat closet somewhere.

“Kiss my fucking ass!” Bucky screams from the corner, arms over his head in triumph as Hadley groans and insists he cheated. Bucky takes Hadley to the ground easily and grinds his face into the carpet, sitting on his back. “Say I’m better!” He demands.

“Eat shit and die!” Hadley shoots back. Bucky licks his palm and rubs it over Hadley’s face, making him howl.

“Say it!” Bucky orders.

Hadley gets a leg around Bucky’s and flips them, and then they’re wrestling right there in the middle of the floor.

“Show ‘im that Saturday night ride!” Mike crows. “Bet you’ve been practicing _that_ one!”

Steve saw a video, at George and Winifred’s house, of Bucky wrestling in high school, and he recognizes some of the moves now. Jake gets down low when Bucky flips Hadley to his back and jokingly counts.

“Aw, come on, Hadley, bridge!” Someone yells.

Jake slaps the ground. “You’re pinned, Hadley.” Bucky pumps the air.

“Still the champion,” he taunts.

“Yeah, with your fucking metal arm!” Hadley yells. “That’s not fair.”

“Oh, sorry I got my arm blown off,” Bucky says sarcastically. “It’s _not_ fair.”

Hadley rolls his eyes while Bucky gives him a hand to stand up. “Yeah, yeah.” They’re elbowing each other and laughing and Steve’s stomach hurts. Bucky won’t rough-house with him. He won’t spar at Thor’s gym. But he’s wrestling around with these guys he went to high school with.

Bucky shoots him a big grin, happy with himself. “You married a real winner,” he says, and Steve forces himself to laugh.

“Such a winner you gotta announce it, huh?” He teases. The guys all laugh and cheer and Bucky pretends to be wounded.

“Hey, Toro’s coming,” Jake calls, looking up from his phone. Steve knows who Toro is—the neighbor kid Winifred saw Bucky kissing. The first guy Bucky kissed. He glances at Bucky. He’s sure none of these guys know that about Bucky and Toro.

 _Will that be weird?_ He signs at Bucky. Bucky shrugs.

 _I haven’t seen him since junior year_ , he signs back.

“Whoa, you guys do sign language?” Carson asks. “Is that, like, a military thing?”

Steve has to work to keep from rolling his eyes. Does he look like he could’ve been in the military? He turns his head and taps his hearing aid. “It’s a deaf thing.”

“Yeah, but Bucky isn’t deaf,” Lewis points out.

“I learned so I could sign with Steve,” Bucky says, easy as anything. “And our friend Clint. He’s deaf, too.”

“Is he a homo, too? Don’t you guys all bunch together?” One of the other guys asks. Steve’s starting to puff up when the door opens and a good-looking guy walks in.

“Toro!” Jake calls, giving Steve and Bucky a pained, apologetic look. Bucky shakes his head, jaw clenched a little. Steve’s stomach drops when he looks at Toro. The guy could be a model. He’s got dark hair, darker than Bucky’s even, and an easy smile that he bestows upon the room at large. No wonder Bucky kissed him.

“Hey, fellas!” He calls out. “Miss me?” He catches sight of Bucky and does a little double-take. “Oh, hey, Bucky,” he says, sounding a little less sure of himself.

“Hi, Toro,” Bucky says.

“It’s been a while.” Toro gives Bucky an appraising look; it’s blink-and-you-miss-it quick, but Steve sees the spark of appreciation in his eyes and feels something ugly rear its head inside him.

“Yeah, a few years,” Bucky agrees, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “Toro, this is Steve,” he says, reaching for Steve. Steve’s standing too far away for his arm to make it to him, and he doesn’t move closer. He feels weird and off-balance. He wants to leave.

“Did you know Barnes is a homo?” Lewis asks Toro. “Steve’s his husband.”

Toro’s eyes go wide. “Oh,” he says.

“Quit saying homo,” Jake hisses. “Jesus.”

“What?” Lewis asks defensively. “Least I didn’t say fag.”

Steve rubs his temples. He wants to go home. This is why he avoids meatheads. He didn’t get along with them in high school and he doesn’t get along with them now.

“I didn’t know you got married,” Toro says, looking at Bucky.

Bucky shrugs. “I did.”

Toro nods, glancing at Steve. “Huh.” Steve doesn’t think he’s imagining how unimpressed Toro looks. He hunches his shoulders a little. Normally, he doesn’t let people intimidate him like this, but he feels completely surrounded, like he's gone back in time and someone's going to grab him and stick his head in the toilet and give him a swirly. He doesn’t even really feel like _Bucky’s_ on his side right now.

The party goes on, with a lot of reminiscing about things Steve has no part in, and his mood goes from bad to worse. He imagines meeting Bucky in high school and knows they would not have been friends. What would they have had in common? Bucky was popular, athletic, a good student. Steve was angry, sickly, and friendless.

He gets up and heads to the kitchen to get some more water. Normally he’d ask Bucky if he wants anything while he’s up, but Bucky’s watching a video of some college wrestling team on Hadley’s phone. He doesn’t even seem to notice Steve get up, though he's always hyperaware of everything and couldn't possibly have missed it. One of the guys Steve saw making a face at them leans in to look closer, resting his arm on Bucky's shoulder, then looks down and cringes when he sees it's Bucky. He moves over to lean on Mike instead, and Steve snorts as he leaves. Does he think being gay is contagious? Bucky's friends are real gems.

Steve knows he’s being sullen and ridiculous. Is he really mad that Bucky’s having a good time and not freaking out? Some husband he is. His self-rebuke isn’t doing anything to help his mood.

And, of course, Toro’s in the kitchen. Steve wants to turn around, but Toro’s already spotted him. He raises an eyebrow.

“You know who I am.” It’s not a question.

“Yeah,” Steve admits. “I do.”

Toro smiles a little. “Are you threatened by me?” He asks, lazy in the way good-looking people get to be. Steve straightens his shoulders and keeps his chin up, his free hand balling into a fist at his side. Being around all these jocks has him reverting to his high school self, too.

“No,” he says casually, if a little pointedly. “ _I_ got a life-long commitment outta him.”

Toro nods. “You’re an interesting pair,” he says. Steve bristles, swallowing hard. He knows he’s not good-looking enough for Bucky. He doesn’t need some asshole telling him. “Not really who I’d picture Bucky ending up with.”

“Yeah, well, you haven’t talked to him since he was seventeen,” Steve points out, doing his best not to sound as angry as he is. “People grow up and change.”

Toro nods again. “That’s true. And Bucky’s been through some shit. That kinda thing changes a person.”

Steve flushes a little. He gets what Toro’s saying—if Bucky hadn’t been captured, he never would’ve looked twice at Steve. The guy in the living room horsing around and calling his friends different variations of the word _assface_ wouldn’t have married Steve Rogers.

He doesn’t know what to say. “Yeah,” he settles on. It’s not like his statement isn’t true; what happened to Bucky _did_ change him. Steve’s throat feels tight as he feels a flash of gratitude. He can’t believe he’s happy that Bucky went through all that. Steve is the most selfish person on earth.

Bucky walks in then, grinning that wide grin that makes Steve’s knees a little weak. “There you are,” he says, nudging Steve’s shoulder with his own. He glances at Toro. “Whatcha guys talking about?”

Steve can’t talk. There’s a lump in his throat that’s getting worse with the warmth of Bucky’s shoulder seeping into his own. Bucky is far, far more than he deserves. Toro smiles.

“Just talking about you,” he says with a wink. He raises his beer in a toast. “Good to see you again.” He turns and saunters away and Steve studies his shoes for a minute or two.

“Hey,” Bucky says softly. “Someone say something to you?” Steve just shrugs. Bucky slips an arm around his waist and tugs him in close, sighing a little and resting his head against Steve’s. “You don’t look happy,” he murmurs. “You want to leave?”

That just makes Steve feel worse. He clears his throat and shakes his head. “You’re having a good time,” he protests. “We should stay.”

Bucky hums and Steve can feel the vibration in Bucky’s chest against his back. “Some of these guys are total assholes,” he says, and it gets a little laugh out of Steve.

“Yeah, they are,” he agrees. “Homophobic assholes.”

“I was afraid of that,” Bucky admits. “I mean, I hoped some of ‘em would change since high school, but, well. I spent a lot of time with them. I knew some of them wouldn’t be happy. Glad we’re not in a locker room.”

Steve thinks of gym class all through high school. “Me too.”

Bucky sways a little, taking Steve with him. “For real. You wanna go? We’ve been here a few hours. We can go home and watch TV. Or I could beat you in Scrabble again.”

Steve scoffs. “Don’t try to challenge me to get me to leave.” He breathes in against Bucky’s chest, gathering his strength. If there’s one thing he learned in high school, it’s that he doesn’t want the assholes to know they got to him. “We can stay,” he says. “I’m fine.”

Bucky gives him a narrow-eyed, examining look. “Okay,” he says, still sounding a little suspicious. “But if something’s wrong and you’re sticking it out for me, I’m gonna be pissed.”

Steve puts on his sweetest smile. “Aw, Buck, you know there’s only one thing I stick out for you.”

Bucky cracks up laughing and squeezes him tight before releasing him. “Come on,” he says, bumping his hip lightly into Steve’s as they walk. “Mike’s got some old tapes of us wrestling. I know how you like seeing me in a singlet.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You’re so full of yourself.”

Bucky spreads his arms wide. “Do I not have reason to be? I’m a work of art.”

“Well, I mean, sure, who knew Picasso’s paintings could come to life?”

Bucky elbows him, laughing, and everyone looks up when they walk in. Jake puts his hands on his hips.

“What were you doing in there?” He leers.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Bucky asks. “You’ve always been a bit of a voyeur.”

Jake’s face goes scarlet. “I wasn’t watching!” He screeches, and Steve’s clearly missed an inside joke because everyone’s laughing and yelling things. It’s a little bit of a barb, not being in on the joke, but Bucky keeps Steve tucked close to his side for the rest of the night and takes some of the sting away.

But now that he’s realized it, Steve can’t stop thinking about the fact that Bucky would never have looked twice at him if he hadn’t been captured, tortured, and lost his arm. Steve stews on it. He shouldn’t be happy that happened to Bucky. Thinking about it makes him _sick_. But would he rather it didn’t happen and he didn’t get Bucky?

Yes, he thinks. He would rather Bucky be happy and unhurt and able to sleep a full night, even if it means he maybe saw Steve in that bathroom in the VA and never again. He thinks that. He _knows_ that. But it doesn't stop him from looking at Bucky and thinking he's lucky Bucky _did_ go through it all.

So he’s in a weird mood all week, to say the least.

They’re nestled down in bed, Bucky propped against the headboard with his glasses on his nose while he reads and Steve drawing the way the sheets pool at his waist, when Bucky glances up and says,

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened at the party that’s making you act so weird?”

Steve’s face pinches up immediately. “No,” he says.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Well, are you ever going to stop acting so weird, at least?”

Steve scratches his forehead and shrugs. “Probably.”

Bucky blows out a breath. “You want me to fight dirty, here? I’m not above it.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks.

“Kinda freaking me out, pal,” Bucky admits softly. “You’ve been dodging me, and you won’t look me in the eye, and I’m sorta…” He licks his lips and shrugs and Steve practically falls off the bed in his haste to put his sketchbook and pencil on the bedside table so he can launch himself onto Bucky.

“No, no, no,” he says, half-scolding and half-pleading. “It’s not—I’m not thinking of leaving or anything like that.”

“Jesus, I didn’t go that far down the rabbit hole,” Bucky protests. “I just thought you were mad at me or something.”

“Oh,” Steve says. “Well. Not that, either.”

Bucky manages a little laugh, but his brow is still furrowed. “So what is it?”

Steve sighs, deliberating. He’s not sure he wants Bucky to know how awful he is. Bucky has an idea—he still calls Steve an asshole at least once a week, and even though he's always joking Steve thinks he maybe sees a little bit of how spiteful Steve can be—but this is really shitty.

“I don’t really fit in with your friends,” Steve starts slowly. The wrinkles don’t leave Bucky’s forehead.

“What do you mean?” He interrupts. “You and the Commandos get along great.”

“Your high school friends,” Steve corrects. “I don’t fit in with them, and I’ve been feeling rotten because…I don’t think we would’ve ever worked out if you hadn’t…” He sighs again, but he sees realization pass into Bucky’s eyes.

“Oh,” he says. “You think I wouldn’t be in love with you if I wasn’t a basket case?”

“Bucky—”

“No, that’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?” Bucky cuts him off. “If I was some normal guy who was a jock in high school, I’d be just another asshole, right?”

“I just meant…” Steve shrugs, pulling his knees up to his chest and studying the tops of his toes. “I just meant we wouldn’t really have anything in common.”

Bucky’s quiet for long enough that Steve’s heart has sunk all the way to the floor. He peeks up at Bucky and finds him looking unbearably sad.

“I wish we would’ve gone to the same high school,” Bucky says. “So I could prove you wrong and kick the shit out of every person who made you think that way. I would’ve loved you then, too. I know it.”

Steve gives him a skeptical look. “You had a _girlfriend_ , Buck.”

“So what?” Bucky asks. “She wasn’t exactly surprised when I broke up with her because I’m gay, Steve. Why’s this got you all bent outta shape, anyway? Who wants to be the same person they were in high school?”

“Because part of me is glad it happened to you,” Steve bursts out. His voice peters out by the end, but he knows Bucky heard it all. “I wish it hadn’t, _God_ , I wish no one in the world ever hurt you, and I’d give you up if it meant you didn’t have to go through that, but…I’m a selfish bastard, okay?”

Bucky tips his head back to rest against the headboard with a little _thunk_. “Huh.”

“Huh?” Steve echoes. “I tell you I’m glad you got tortured and you say huh?”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” Bucky admits. “This isn’t in any of my _how to be a normal person again_ books.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve mumbles, looking at his knobby knees again. “I’m sorry I’m like this.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a minute, and then he wraps a hand around Steve’s ankle. “I think we should put you in movies or something, because you’re pretty fucking dramatic.”

Steve’s head shoots up, indignant. “I’m not being dramatic!”

“You are being _so_ dramatic.”

“I just told you something horrible!” Steve says. “I told you I’m happy you got _tortured_. You lost an _arm_. You got experimented on and had amnesia!”

“Okay, I don’t need the rundown,” Bucky breaks in tightly. “I was there.”

“I shouldn’t be happy about that. None of me should be happy.”

Bucky sighs, a long exhalation of breath. “Well, what about me, then?” He says quietly. “Is it wrong if part of me is happy too?”

Steve gapes at him. “What?”

“I mean, it’s justification. Got captured, got tortured, everyone knew coming out I’d be messed up in the head. But lots of people coming home didn’t get captured or tortured but we all saw fucked up shit, Steve. We all _did_ fucked up shit. But they don’t have the excuse. So people think they should just get over it.” Bucky shrugs. “No one tells me to just get over it.”

“No one should tell anyone else to just get over it, either,” Steve says.

“Sure, but they do. And maybe I’m glad it happened to me so I could meet you. Is that too sappy to say? Does that make me sound like some damsel in distress you’re gonna tear apart for not being strong enough? I would’ve loved you in high school, Steve, but I didn’t meet you in high school, and if I wasn’t six kinds of batshit my ma never would’ve found you.” He leans forward and presses his face against Steve’s neck. “I’d give my left arm for you, you know.”

Steve shudders, tears stinging his eyes. “That’s not funny,” he chokes out.

“I thought it was a little funny,” Bucky murmurs. “Hey, don’t cry, huh?” He says it like his voice isn’t tight or his eyes watery. “You’re not supposed to cry over me. I made that a goal.”

Steve twists so he can get his arms around Bucky. “Your face makes me cry,” he sniffs. Bucky chuckles a little and kisses the spot beneath Steve’s ear.

“There’s my asshole.”

“Think you need an anatomy lesson,” Steve says. “But I could show you your asshole if you really want.”

Now Bucky laughs hard, clinging to Steve a little. “I guess I wouldn’t mind that, if you could make that sacrifice.”

Steve kisses him, softer than his teasing words call for, and rests their foreheads together. He doesn’t think he’ll ever stop feeling guilty about that little part of him that’s grateful for the horrible things that happened to Bucky, but all of him is grateful to know Bucky doesn’t hate him for it.

And when he wakes up in the morning, pushed over to the side of the bed because Bucky’s been steadily encroaching on his space all night, he smiles and kisses Bucky’s shoulder, cherishing that he gets to wake up to this every day.

Then he digs his elbow into Bucky’s ribs to make him move over, because fair is fair, and everyone knows Steve Rogers loves justice as much as he loves Bucky Barnes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made Bucky a wrestler because I come from a wrestling family (all my brothers wrestle, my dad is a wrestling coach, all my COUSINS wrestle, I have 3 uncles who are wrestling coaches, etc.) and you guys, wrestlers are _weird_. These are guys who get super pissed if anyone makes jokes about them being gay for wrestling, but then they are THE MOST cuddly boys ever. With each other. It's sort of cute, in a way, because they'll cuddle up on long bus trips or in the bleachers at tournaments while they're waiting for their matches, but it's also bizarre because you'll see a guy sitting there with his friend's head in his lap, running his fingers through friend's hair, making homophobic jokes about the other team. It's surreal. (I mean, I could talk about the performative masculinity/heteronormativity involved in all sports in general but especially a sport that gets called gay so much, but this isn't really the place.)


	5. Speech, Speech, Speech

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to [whtaft!!!!](http://whtaft.tumblr.com) Technically your birthday is tomorrow but have an early present. :) It's so so so sappy, omg.

Steve wipes his sweaty palms across his pants to try to dry them off. He’s nervous. He’s so nervous. Phil Coulson, who heads up the superhero department of Shield Comics, is giving a long speech Steve can’t focus on. He tries, he really does, because this is a big deal and it has a huge effect on him. But every time he looks at the back of Coulson’s head, his ears start buzzing.

And it’s not his hearing aid.

Steve closes his eyes for a second, trying to compose himself. They’re making Captain America into a movie. A _movie_. And Steve is signed on to consult for the script, to make sure it stays true to his characters and doesn’t turn them into anything he doesn’t approve of. He’s already been invited to visit the set in Hollywood once the movie starts shooting, and he’ll walk the red carpet at the premiere.

So for now, he has to give a speech about how excited he is for the opportunity to see his comics brought to life. They’re doing a big press conference. There’s a crowd and cameras and people staring at Steve. He’s bouncing his leg anxiously, though he can’t do that for long because he gets a cramp in his foot.

He didn’t sleep very well last night. _Bucky_ didn’t sleep very well last night, because he’d had a big tune-up with Stark and Banner and Cho. He kept trying to get up and go to the couch or the guest room—Steve’s old room, technically—so Steve could sleep, but Steve wouldn’t let him go. He can hardly sleep without Bucky anymore. They’ve fallen asleep on Skype more than once while Steve was away at a con or Bucky had to work late at Tony’s lab on some project or other.

Steve scans the crowd again. He sees Natasha’s red hair first, Clint on one side looking bored. Sam’s on her other side, head tipped close to Riley’s as they murmur probably jokes about Coulson’s speech and how much praise he’s heaping on Steve.

Dugan’s flat-out asleep, head dropped down on Morita’s shoulder, and Morita’s putting little pieces of balled-up paper in Dugan’s open mouth in retribution. Gabe looks like he’s listening, but Steve can see his hand moving slightly, which means he’s texting without looking. Dernier and Falsworth are caught up in a conversation with Peggy and Angie, though Angie sees him looking and flashes him a thumbs-up. Steve’s already planning to see what he can do about getting Angie a part in the movie. He doesn’t know if he has that kind of swing, but he figures it won’t hurt to try.

Winifred has an actual camcorder out that she must have unearthed from 2004. She’s recording the entire thing. George’s head is bent only slightly, but his downcast eyes tell Steve he’s reading. Bailey’s got Jamie on her lap and the two of them are looking at something on her phone. Ella is sleeping against Mark’s shoulder. Becca and Beth are passing a piece of paper between them, probably playing tic-tac-toe. Becca’s stomach is starting to look painfully large with the new baby on its way.

And Bucky’s nowhere to be found.

Steve’s trying not to be upset. This is a big crowd in a small room. Christine Everhart is here, and she makes Bucky uncomfortable for obvious reasons. George already had to steer Winifred away from her once. Add that to the stress Bucky’s feeling from yesterday’s day at the lab—and it had taken the whole day, meaning Bucky missed class and a review session and going to work, though technically his boss was right there with him—and it’s not surprising Bucky isn’t there, sitting on a hard chair surrounded by people and flashing cameras.

But…

But Steve’s disappointed. Bucky’s his _husband_. All Steve asked of him today was wearing a suit (which Bucky looks phenomenal in anyway, and he knows it) and sitting quietly and maybe clapping at the end so Steve doesn’t feel so stupid about his speech. Steve knows that technically, most of those are a bit tougher for Bucky than for anyone else.

But a horrible, selfish part of him wishes Bucky would at least try. Their friends and family are here; they could help Bucky keep it together. And Bucky’s been doing so well lately, going to all his therapy appointments and keeping a 3.5 GPA in his last year of college and sleeping six full hours at a time about three nights out of the week. Steve had thought maybe it would be enough to get him through an hour and a half meeting that means so much.

“And, on that note, we’d like to ask Steve himself to come on up,” Coulson announces, yanking Steve out of his self-pity. He swallows hard, mouth suddenly so dry he can hardly move his tongue. He gets up and shakes Coulson’s hand, pausing for the appropriate photo, trying not to get too wide-eyed at all the flashbulbs going off. His notecards are crumpled because he’s been twisting them in his hands for the last forty minutes.

“Hello,” Steve says. He sees Morita elbow Dugan hard, and Dugan sits upright with a jerk and the faintest yelp. He blinks hard a few times and then gives Steve a sheepish smile that makes it a little easier to smile naturally.

“I’m very honored to be here,” Steve goes on. He doesn’t even need the notecards anymore; he has the speech memorized. “I never imagined I’d get here, to be honest. These comics started out as something silly, just a doodle on a paper towel I put in my husband’s lunch to make him laugh while he was at school.”

Steve’s throat starts to get horrifyingly tight. His husband isn’t even here. Steve takes a deep breath, trying to keep it together. His hands are starting to shake. Someone coughs. A few more shutters click as people photograph Steve standing there like a deer in headlights. He’s starting to breathe a little too quickly. They’re going to change their minds about the movie. They’re not going to keep him on the project. He wasn’t made for Hollywood, really.

He meets Sam’s eyes and relaxes a little at the familiarity of Sam’s steady gaze. He glances over at Natasha and she nods at him. His friends are all giving him encouraging smiles. Winifred has her hands clasped together under her chin like Steve’s saving the world. George isn’t even subtly reading anymore.

Steve licks his lips and straightens his shoulders a little. Lifting his head brings the door into view—the door that’s opened enough to let someone slip in and lean against the back wall, behind all the cameras and reporters. _Bucky_. He’s got his right hand up to his mouth, biting at his fingernails, but he’s all dressed up and he’s pulled his hair back into a bun and he’s here.

He sees Steve looking and takes his hand away from his mouth to wave at Steve. It’s incredibly dorky and it almost makes Steve cry. Steve’s emotions must show on his face, because Bucky’s face goes soft and his lips curl into a fond little smile.

 _Sorry I’m late_ , Bucky signs. All Steve can do is smile and shake his head a little. Bucky’s smile grows. _You’re giving a speech_ , he reminds Steve. Steve jerks his head back up to the crowd. Right.

“Um.” Off to a great start, Rogers. Really. “I’m—I didn’t know all this would happen,” he gets back on track. “So many things in my life lately have felt like an embarrassment of riches. I’m not so sure I deserve it all.”

He looks right at Bucky as he says that, and now Bucky shakes his head. _More_ , he shoots back. _You deserve everything._

“But I’m really grateful to everyone who’s read the Captain America comics. Thank you so much for that, for seeing what I saw in some reckless lug who carries a trashcan lid for protection.” The audience chuckles along with him. “Thank you, Shield Comics, for taking a chance on me, and thank you Disney for getting the same vision I had in my head. Most of all, I want to thank my family and friends for sticking with me. Thanks for always being there for me and being the inspiration for my characters. You’re welcome for drawing you all in really cool costumes.” The crowd laughs again. That’s the end of the speech Steve wrote, but he can’t help the words that keep tripping out of his mouth.

“And thank you, Buck,” he says. He has to pause because he’s overwhelmed again. “Thank you for coming with me, anywhere I’m going.”

He’s getting so sappy. He can’t help it. They’re coming up on their fourth anniversary and Steve still wakes up sometimes wondering if it’s all been a wonderful dream. Bucky’s holding his eyes, so much love on his face that Steve almost can’t take it, and he flashes Steve the _I love you_ sign. Steve smiles back at him, so in awe that Bucky goes through things he hates just for Steve.

“Thank you for being my sidekick,” he adds, just to lighten the mood a little and go out on a good note, and Bucky wrinkles his nose, laughing. The next sign he gives Steve isn’t nearly as polite.

Somehow Steve sits through the rest of the press conference, hearing from the Disney reps and the guys who’ve been picked to direct the film. He’s met them, formally, and he’ll meet with them a few more times, but for now he can only focus on Bucky giving him bedroom eyes from the back of the room to make him blush.

Finally, it ends, and he tries to muscle through the crowd as politely as possible. He has to stop and give a few statements, and by the time he’s gotten to his group, Bucky’s there waiting. Sometimes, when everyone’s all gathered together, they hang back from each other. They know they’re going home at the end of the night, know they can find the other’s hand whenever they need it, know they love each other without needing a lot of fanfare around it.

But right now, Steve goes straight to Bucky, sliding an arm around his waist and another to the back of his neck to bring his head down for a kiss.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to come,” he admits softly. Bucky brushes his nose against Steve’s.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Bucky tells him. “It was kinda touch and go for a little while.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, and he can hear the awe in his own voice. “Buck, you’re so…” He shakes his head and kisses Bucky again. When they break apart, Bucky drops his head down to rest against the crook of Steve’s neck.

“Missed a lot of my family’s stuff while I was gone,” he murmurs. “But I’m home now. And I don’t want to miss anything with you.”

There’s a picture of them in the newspaper the next day, a tiny little black-and-white photo on the fourth page of the entertainment section. They have their arms around each other and their heads tipped close, Bucky’s nose scrunched in laughter as he listens to Steve talking.

Steve knows he’s being dopey and sappy, but he cuts it out. It’s a great picture, truth be told, and he wonders if he could get in touch with whoever took it to get a copy. Would he have to pay for a picture of himself? He doesn’t know how these things work.

Just because he’s extra ridiculous, Steve goes out to the kitchen to hang the picture on the refrigerator door. Bucky will tease him about it, but Steve doesn’t care. The picture makes him feel good. Some mornings, even getting to the kitchen is hard. Might as well have a reward for himself for when he makes it there.

But Steve stops when he gets to the fridge. The picture is already there. Four copies of the picture, actually, meticulously cut and taped together to form a square of them laughing together. Steve huffs a little laugh and pulls away the Ireland-shaped magnet holding it up.

Bucky’s writing is on the back, not the mostly illegible child-like scrawl he uses for his own notes but the solid, painstaking handwriting that means he spent at least fifteen minutes on it, forming each letter perfectly and sticking out his tongue in concentration.

 _Anywhere you’re going_ , it promises. _To the end of the line._


	6. Sam + Riley 4eva

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam was getting UNHAPPY that I was not writing this chapter in a timely manner because he wanted his wedding day. So here we are!

Sam wakes up in Steve and Bucky’s spare bedroom. It doesn’t even take him a full second to remember why, and then he’s grinning excitedly. He even raises an arm in the air and fist-pumps. He looks at his phone—his alarm won’t go off for an hour. But he’s too amped up to go back to sleep. His phone buzzes right as he’s looking at it. It’s Riley.

_I’m already awake. :D :D :D_

Sam shakes his head fondly. That man and his damn emoticons. _Me too_ , he admits. His phone buzzes again but this time it’s a call.

“Hi,” he answers, sounding almost breathless.

“I’m so excited,” Riley says.

Sam laughs a little bit, giddy. “Me too.”

“Missed you last night, though.”

“It was your idea!” Sam reminds him, betrayed. Riley just laughs at his indignation.

“Just because I have great ideas doesn’t mean I can’t miss you. Let me guess—your alarm is set for twenty minutes before we’re meeting everyone."

Sam pauses for a second, caught. “…No…”

Riley’s cracking up laughing at him. “Don’t you try to lie to me, Samuel.”

“I was saving the shower for after we got everything set up!” Sam defends himself. “I don’t want to have to take two showers, and I can’t show up to my own wedding sweaty.”

“Mm, bet your guy wouldn’t mind one bit,” Riley says, voice deepening deliciously. “You could show up exactly the way you are right now, all sleepy and warm…bet you’re just wearing thin little sweats, huh? You _up_?”

“Riley,” Sam groans. “We can’t do this now. I’m in Steve and Bucky’s house.”

“So what?” Riley asks. “They won’t mind. They’d fuck like rabbits if they could.”

It almost sounds callous, considering the reasons they can’t, but Sam knows Riley enough to know it isn’t. They haven’t had sex in a month (well, okay, three weeks, and even that sort of depends on your definition of sex, but still), just so tonight would be extra special, and they’re both feeling it.

“Your parents are in the next room,” Sam adds, playing dirty now. “I cannot do anything with your mother there.”

Riley huffs. “Well, that was a mood killer.”

“Good. Keep it in your pants for a few more hours.”

“Twelve more hours,” Riley corrects.

“Ugh, can’t we just go elope so we can do it right now?” Sam asks.

Riley gasps theatrically. “ _You’re_ the one who said we _had_ —”

“I know!” Sam interrupts, laughing. “I’m kidding. Mostly. Just excited.”

“Me, too,” Riley says, a smile in his voice. They’re quiet for a minute, just listening to each other breathe, and Sam thinks maybe he’ll doze a little with Riley there on the line. It’s been a long time since they’ve slept apart.

“Are you nervous at all?” Riley asks softly. “Having second thoughts?”

Normally, Sam would give him a teasing answer, but he can hear the plaintiveness in Riley’s tone. He’s worried. Having his parents in town has been a bit of a strain. They’d been mostly supportive of Riley when he came out and was gay in the abstract. It got a little tougher for them when he brought Sam home and they saw it all right there in real life.

“Hey,” Sam says, serious. “I’ve woken up beside you every day for more than a year, and the only time I regretted it was that time you had food poisoning and puked all over.”

“ _Oh_ my G—” Riley tries to protest, but Sam cuts him off.

“I am _so_ happy,” he promises. “I can’t wait to wake up tomorrow as your husband.” He could say more—there’s so much more—but he figures he should save some of it for his vows.

“Okay,” Riley says, and the smile is back in his voice. “I’m happy, too, you know.”

Sam laughs a little. “I know.”

Riley snorts but before he can say anything, there’s a knock on his end of the line. “Riley?” His mom says. “You up?”

“Oh, am I ever,” Riley mutters, making Sam cackle, and then calls back, “Yeah, Mama, you need something?”

His accent comes out thicker with his parents and Sam loves it. He lets the sound of Riley’s voice wash over him, closing his eyes for a second, and then Riley comes back to the phone, sounding regretful.

“Gotta go,” he says. “I’ll see you in about an hour.”

“Can’t wait,” Sam confirms. “I love you.” They don’t end every phone call that way, but Sam’s excited and Riley might need a little strength to deal with his dad on his own.

“I love you too,” Riley murmurs.

Sam sighs, lovesick, and then gets up to go for a run. He leaves the room and finds Bucky in the kitchen, eating a banana.

“Going running?” He asks with his mouth full. “Want a banana?”

“Yes and yes,” Sam says.

Bucky swallows his mouthful as he hands a banana over. “Me’n Gabe are running five,” he says. “Wanna join us?”

“Sure,” Sam agrees. Five miles is a bit more than he was planning on, but he’s plenty pent-up and could stand to burn some energy.

For a while, Bucky wasn’t running smart. Sam’s not one to criticize running as a coping mechanism—it’s still his go-to, after all—but Bucky wasn’t using it to cope; he was using it to punish himself. He’d push past his body’s limits just to hurt himself and snap at anyone trying to talk to him about it. He’s been backing off on it lately, what with therapy and Steve giving him the worried eyebrows of doom. Sam’s not his therapist, but he’s proud as hell.

There’s only one point where Bucky speeds up a bit too much, getting ahead of Sam and Gabe, and Sam’s trying to think of the best way to call him back when Gabe says,

“Hey, Sarge, quit showing off.”

Bucky’s shoulders go tense for a second, but then he relaxes and slows down, coming back to run abreast with them. No one says anything else, and it’s not a big deal.

Gabe splits off and heads home, calling out, “See ya later! Happy wedding day!” Sam knows he’s smiling all goofily about it.

Bucky nods at a Starbucks as they walk back. “Come on, let me get you something. We don’t have any coffee at home.”

“I can buy my own coffee,” Sam protests.

“It’s your wedding day,” Bucky says. “I’ll get it.” And Sam smiles again, jazzed about it every time someone says it. Bucky smiles, laughing at him a little bit, but Sam sees wistfulness in his eyes.

“What’s that?” Sam asks as they wait in line. “What’s with the face?”

“This is my face,” Bucky says, deadpan. Sam gives him a look and he bites his lip. “I’m—happy. You’re excited, and that’s—good,” he says haltingly. He still has a bit of trouble talking about his feelings, especially with anyone who isn’t Steve.

“But?” Sam prompts.

Bucky shrugs. “Steve and I weren’t happy. When we got married. And Steve should’ve been happy. Not because I’m so great he should’ve been happy to marry me,” he adds quickly. “But he deserves—Steve should—he should’ve had a wedding where he was excited.”

Sam nods. He was there on their wedding day; Steve was not excited, just anxious. “He wouldn’t change anything, you know.”

Bucky ducks his head, a sweet little smile tipping over his face, and he nods. “I know.” He shakes himself a little. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re happy.”

“Thanks, man,” Sam says easily, because Bucky’s looking kind of awkward about it. They get Sam’s coffee and head back to the apartment. When they get there, Steve’s awake.

 _Awake_ may be a bit of a generous term; he’s out of bed, at least, but his eyes are still half-closed behind his glasses, his hair’s a mess, and he’s leaning against the counter like it’s the only thing holding him up. He’s wearing a pair of sweats so big they have to be Bucky’s, and he’s shirtless. They lived together for almost three years and Sam saw him shirtless only a handful of times, but he’s more comfortable with himself now.

Steve and Bucky are good for each other.

“Hey, you’re up early,” Bucky says happily, a dopey smile taking over his face. Sam’s sure he doesn’t look that stupid when he looks at Riley.

Well, it _is_ kind of sweet. Maybe he does.

Steve just grunts, which makes Sam and Bucky laugh at him. Steve is not a morning person by any stretch of the imagination. Their laughter makes him shake himself awake a little more.

“Gotta make Sam pancakes,” he says. Sam roars with laughter.

“You remember that?”

Now Steve looks rueful. “How could I forget?” He turns to Bucky. “I made pancakes one of the first nights we lived together, and they were awful. All burnt on the outside and not done on the inside ‘cause I was too impatient and turned the heat up too hot.” Bucky snorts, and Steve gives him a teasing little glare. “Anyway, I was kinda upset when Sam told me he was leaving me to move in with Riley. Didn’t want to lose my roommate, you know? But I was sick and I was all hopped up on cold medicine so I wasn’t really paying attention to what I was saying and I guess I kept promising my pancakes were better and I’d make him some if he didn’t leave me.”

He rolls his eyes at himself. It’s funny now, but it had actually been sort of tragic while it was happening. He’d been so worried about Sam leaving him. And one part Steve leaves out here that Sam won’t forget is the way he kept saying, “But I don’t want to be alone again, Sam, please.” The only way Sam had been able to stick to his guns and move in with Riley was because he knew Natasha and Clint had room for Steve in their apartment.

Bucky’s got a hand wrapped around Steve’s hip now, and he’s smiling but his brow’s a little wrinkled, like maybe he’s thinking about the sadder aspect of the whole thing the way Sam is. Steve’s laughing about it, though, so they stay lighthearted.

Steve swats at Bucky with the spatula he’s holding. “You need a shower,” he accuses.

“Well, I was gonna let Sam go first,” Bucky says magnanimously. “Since he’s getting married and all.”

“Oh, what a guy,” Steve says. “You just want to eat the pancake batter.” He shakes his head at Sam. “Bucky eats pancake batter. Before it’s cooked!”

Sam holds up his hands. “I don’t need to know about your guys’ weird lives,” he teases. “I’m going to take a shower.”

Steve’s pancakes turn out just fine, and soon the three of them are heading to the reception hall to set up tables and chairs and the arch for the ceremony later tonight. Sam’s parents wanted to pay for someone to do it for them, but Sam didn’t want them to. They’re already paying for the caterer and Riley’s parents are paying for the hall reservation; Sam and Riley want to do something on their own.

Well, not entirely on their own. It would be ridiculous to expect two people to put up all those tables and chairs, after all, so they’ve roped all their family and friends into helping with manual labor.

Sam’s family is waiting outside the hall when they get there. Riley’s talking easily with them all—he and Sam hang out with the family as much as they can. His parents are standing a little apart, looking uncomfortable, and Sam can see the way Riley’s shoulders are tight with anger.

“Hey,” Sam says, sliding his arms around Riley’s waist from behind and resting his chin on Riley’s shoulder. Riley relaxes. Sam can’t help the smile that pulls up. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get over the fact that _he_ can make Riley relax, easy as anything, just from being there.

“Oh, Steve, look at you!” Sam’s mom coos. Steve Rogers is a favorite among mothers, which makes absolutely no sense because the guy is a _menace_.

“Hi, Darlene,” he says warmly. Bucky’s turning most of his attention to the kids, because that’s easier for him when faced with a growing crowd. Izzy takes one look at him and decides he’s hers.

“Should we wait for Nat and Clint or get started without them?” Sam asks.

“We’re here!” Clint yells from the parking lot. “We beat Dugan and Gabe. I didn’t even see Morita and Falsworth and Dernier.”

Natasha signs at Clint that he’s being too loud and he makes a face. He probably didn’t put in his hearing aids. His volume control even with them isn’t exactly great.

“Alright, well, let’s get going,” Riley decides. “People can help when they get here.”

Riley has the keys, and he unlocks the door and they find…everything’s done. The tables are set up just the way Sam and Riley had painstakingly diagrammed, the lights are hung, and the whole place looks amazing.

“What?” Sam asks. He whirls around and finds his friends looking decidedly pleased with themselves. “When did you do all this?”

“Last night,” Steve tells him. “While you guys were out to dinner.”

“Bucky used his metal arm and grabbed four tables at once,” Clint says.

“Steve almost fainted with lust,” Natasha adds. Steve goes a little pink around the face, but Sam can’t be sure if it’s from the teasing or from remembering the event.

“Is this the wedding?” Jody asks loudly. “ _I’m_ carrying the rings,” he brags, the way he has been for the last two months.

“We’re _sharing_ ,” Gideon’s son, Jim, insists angrily. They’re both five, and they usually get along fairly well, but being the center of attention is something they’re both into.

“ _I’m_ the flower girl,” Izzy reminds everyone. “And I don’t have to share with _anyone_.”

“I can’t believe you guys did all this in secret.” Riley sounds a little choked up. He’s not normally too emotional—he’s not Bucky, that’s for sure—but Sam’s not feeling so dry-eyed himself.

“Steve planned it all,” Bucky makes sure everyone knows, sounding proud. Steve shrugs a little.

“You’re getting married,” he says, like that’s the only answer necessary. “I didn’t want you to have to worry about it on your wedding day.”

Sam and Riley crush Steve between them, and his laughter’s probably the only reason Bucky looks relaxed about it all instead of hovering like he’s ready to jump in and save his husband.

“Aw, you guys showed ‘em without us?” Dugan yells, his jovial tone at odds with his disappointed words. “I wanted to see if Sam cried!”

Sam can’t retaliate the way he’d like to because his mother is right there and would probably skin him alive, wedding day or no, so he just rolls his eyes.

“I might’ve cried a little bit,” Riley admits.

“What a blessing,” Paul says. “A blessing to have people who care so much.”

“Amen to that,” Darlene agrees, and she’s only _mostly_ teasing him for sermonizing.

Sam looks at the gaggle of friends and family he’s accumulated and can’t help but agree, regardless of his own friction with religion.

After that, the day’s full of hurry-up-and-wait that makes Sam want to pace. He’s _done_ his time sitting around waiting; they should have scheduled the ceremony for first thing in the morning. He’s _dying_.

Finally, finally, Sam’s waiting in a back room, checking his suit over in the mirror and making sure he looks okay. He’d told Riley he wasn’t nervous, and he isn’t, not about the part where he gets to say _my husband_ and know no one can keep him from Riley ever again, but he does feel a little anxious about walking down the aisle and saying his vows. He knows he wants to _be_ married to Riley, but right now he’s not so sure he wants to _get_ married.

His dad comes up behind him and puts a hand on his shoulder. “You look very handsome,” he tells him solemnly. “I want to tell you a few things.”

Sam cringes at him. “Please don’t try to tell me about sex again,” he begs. Paul laughs at that, ruefully. Sam had told his parents he thought he was gay when he was thirteen years old. Not too long after, Paul decided it was high time he and Sam had a manly chat, the kind of manly chat he thought Sam needed before he ventured into dating or anything like that.

But Paul realized he couldn’t give the same talk to Sam that he’d given Gideon, because there was a glaring difference in the preferences there. Paul didn’t know, exactly, how to give Sam _that_ version of the manly chat. So, being the scholarly type, he’d decided to do his research, and he’d turned to the internet.

He had found himself on some unfortunate websites, and he’d been unable to look _anyone_ in the eye for nearly a week. Darlene had laughed herself silly when he finally ‘fessed up to what happened. She’d handled giving Sarah the talk a few years before, and Sam had heard a lot more giggling in their version.

“No, I’m sure you know far more about that than I’d like to think about,” Paul says now, giving Sam the closest thing to a leer his father will ever make. Sam snorts. “I just wanted to talk to you about—well, about marriage, son. It’s not easy. I know you love Riley, and I know Riley loves you. I’m happy you two found each other and I’m happy you’ve worked to stay together. But just remember the work doesn’t stop when you’ve got the ring. You keep courting him, every day, so he knows he’s loved. Hear me?”

Sam has tears in his eyes. He knows for a fact it’s the same speech his father gave Gideon on his wedding day, with a few pronoun changes, and just at that moment, he’s overwhelmed with gratitude and love for his family. His father, a _minister_ , not hardly blinking an eye when his son came out. His parents have loved him and supported him his entire life, and his siblings never once acted like his relationships were different or less important than theirs. He thinks of Riley, getting ready in the room across the hall, and he knows his dad didn’t go in to give him any advice.

“Thanks, Dad,” Sam whispers, putting his arms around his father and hugging him tightly. Paul can’t breathe in at the top of Sam’s head anymore, like he could when Sam was a kid, but he still gives him one extra-tight squeeze before he lets go.

“And I already spoke to Riley with some advice, too, you know,” Paul adds. He frowns a little. “Don’t think his own father—well.”

And that does it, the final nail in Sam’s I-won’t-cry coffin, because his parents loving and supporting Riley, too, gets him every time. He knows how much it means to Riley, how hard it’s been to be a bit estranged from his parents. Sam has to hug Paul again for that, and Paul smiles softly like he gets it.

“You ready?” Paul asks. “I gotta go out front and take my place.”

Sam swipes at his eyes. “Yeah, Pops, you go ahead,” he says. “I know my cue.”

Paul chuckles a little and squeezes Sam’s shoulder one last time. “I am so proud of you,” he says, sounding choked up. “You’ve grown up to be such a good man.” He leaves before Sam can become a total blubbering mess.

Luckily, he’s gotten himself under control by the time he hears his cue—a string quartet playing _Danger Zone_. He laughs a little. It’s absolutely ridiculous, but it’s an understandably meaningful song to him and Riley, even if they hadn’t flown planes. He can hear guests laughing, too, so he pushes the door to the room open and steps into the hall.

Riley’s waiting for him, all spruced up in a suit that Sam can’t wait to peel off him later. They totally stole the idea of walking down the aisle together from Steve and Bucky, or from Bucky’s aunt, rather.

“Hello there, handsome,” Riley drawls at him.

“Hello yourself,” Sam shoots back. “You sure do clean up nice.”

Riley gives him a slow grin that has Sam really wanting to ditch the whole wedding and just skip to the wedding night part, but he figures that wouldn’t be the best idea with a roomful of people waiting.

“Ready?” Sam asks him. He loves the way Riley’s whole face lights up. Riley pulls him in and kisses him softly a few times, and they’re both laughing a little because they’re keeping everyone waiting, and then they grin at each other and start their walk.

Riley still has a bit of a limp, thanks to the accident that got both of them medical discharge, so Sam’s on his weak side in case he wants to lean on Sam a bit more. He’s usually pretty stubborn about walking on his own, even when he’s tired and his leg hurts, but he doesn’t like a lot of people noticing his limp, either.

Sam’s dad is waiting for them at the arch, ready to officiate, and Sam sees his mother already crying. Bucky’s eyes are a bit shiny, too, truth be told, but Steve’s grin is blinding. Natasha twinkles her fingers at them as they walk by, stepping on the flowers Izzy haphazardly threw, and Clint throws a dorky thumb’s up that has them both snorting. The Howling Commandos manage to stay quiet, but they’re all making faces and Gabe signs a little something about what’s to come that is _highly_ inappropriate and leaves Riley almost breathless with laughter.

Riley’s mom is smiling, a little tearful, and his dad is, at least, not frowning. Gideon is holding his wife, Mary, around the waist, and Sarah’s leaning into Bob, her husband. Everyone looks so happy for them. Darlene reaches out and lays a hand on Sam’s arm as they walk by, and Sam catches her hand and gives it a little squeeze. They finally reach Paul at the arch, and he smiles broadly at them.

“Well, here we are,” he says. “Not my first choice of song, that’s for sure, but these boys think they’re pretty funny.” Everyone laughs and Riley squeezes Sam’s hand. “Sam and Riley have their own vows, but I have a few things to say first.” He clears his throat. “I’m not usually so emotional at weddings,” he says. “But, well.” He smiles at Sam. “I’ve had people ask me, when they heard about me officiating this wedding, how I could reconcile my faith with marrying two men. Goes against God and nature, people said. Just ain’t right, they told me.”

His eyes flash over to Riley’s dad for half a second before he rests back on Sam and Riley again. “I don’t pretend to know everything about God. But I do pride myself on knowing a bit, from some studying. And I’ve got to say—I don’t understand at all why people think any kind of love goes against God. We read in the Bible that _love is of God_ and _he that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love._

And if you’ve seen these men together, you know that it’s all love here. Sam and Riley have seen hell on this earth, and they crawled out of that hell and they found safety and happiness together. That is love. That is what’s important when two people decide to get married—their love for each other. I know Sam and Riley love each other, and they respect each other, and they want to keep each other happy. So I know Sam and Riley will have a strong marriage.” Paul nods, like he didn’t just scoop out Sam’s heart with his words, and then he smiles at them both again. “Your vows?”

Riley gives him a watery little chuckle. “Uh, Paul, I don’t know if I can follow that.”

Sam laughs a little too. “You kinda knocked us flat, Dad.” He chances a look at their audience. Darlene’s been crying the whole time, so there’s nothing new there, and Bucky’s openly crying now, even though he’d been hiding it before. Steve is crying a bit, which would be kind of surprising if Sam didn’t know him as well as he does.

But Riley’s dad looks angry, and Sam looks away quickly. He’s not letting that spoil their day. He squeezes Riley’s hands in his. “You want to go first or you want me to?”

“I’ll go first,” Riley says. The eyebrow he raises at Sam tells him Riley wants to make a dirty joke but is holding off, and it makes little bubbles rise from Sam’s stomach to his chest. He has never been this happy, not one day in his life.

Riley takes a deep breath. “Sam,” he starts, voice already breaking. He grins a little sheepishly. “Sam,” he starts over, more steady now. “When I got hit and I was going down, I saw the ground coming at me and I thought I was going to die.” Sam clenches his jaw a little. He hates thinking of that day, thinking of the way Riley’s face looked, so shocked, as he hurtled end-over-end. “My life didn’t flash before my eyes, the way people talk about. But I remember thinking _I’m gonna die and I never told Sam I love him_. That was the worst thought ever. So when I woke up, and I wasn’t dead and neither were you, well.” He shrugs a little, smiling. “I had to tell you right away.”

Sam laughs a little as he remembers. Riley had barely waited until they were alone to throw his arms around Sam, as much as he could while drugged to the gills and poked full of IVs and monitors, and press kisses to his neck, whispering urgently, “I love you, Sam. I love you so much, did you know? Please, Sam, I love you.”

“So, uh, I just want to…I never want to have that feeling again. Where I think I’m leaving things unsaid. So I’m gonna tell you every day. I’m gonna show you every day. I’m gonna make sure you always, always know how much I love you.” He punctuates his words by raising Sam’s hands to his mouth and kissing his knuckles, and Sam has to shake his head a little and blink hard. Now everyone’s looking at him. It’s his turn.

“Riley,” Sam says. It’s his favorite word. “You were hurt, and they wouldn’t let me in your room.” He’d been frantic, the thought of Riley slipping away without Sam’s hand to hold making him wild with fear and rage. But he wasn’t Riley’s commanding officer, and back then he couldn’t say he was Riley’s boyfriend if they didn’t want to get court-martialed. He’d been completely powerless, the worst feeling in the world. “I couldn’t see you, couldn’t make sure they were taking care of you right and getting the IVs into your tiny veins.”

He’d practiced IVs on Riley a million times in training; he knew how frustrating it was to insert them into his arm. “It was the worst few days of my life. I thought you were going to die, and I couldn’t get in there to see you.” Sam swallows hard. It's been years, and they're both healthy and happy now, but it's still hard to think about, even harder to talk about. “That was when I decided I was going to marry you. I knew it didn’t make sense and it wasn’t legal and all that, but I didn’t care. I knew _right then_ that I was going to marry you and never leave you all alone again. Took a little longer than I planned,” he admits ruefully. “But I want you to know I’ve known for a long time that I was going to marry you, and I’m going to do my best every single day to make sure you’re as happy about it as I am.”

Riley nods at him. _Already am_ , he mouths, tears in his eyes, and Sam’s riding on the edge of damn _weepy_. They need to finish this and start dancing and eating cake so he’ll stop crying.

“Now, the rings,” Paul says, smiling at Jody and Jim. There’s a little bit of a scuffle as they elbow each other, but eventually Jody hands Sam a box and Jim gives his to Riley. Sam rubs his thumb over the wings before he pushes the ring onto Riley’s finger, relishing the weight of his own on his finger after Riley’s done.

“With the power vested in me by the State of New York, I pronounce you husband and husband,” Paul says, smiling so wide it’s stretching his whole face. “Go on and kiss.”

Riley surges forward immediately, almost knocking Sam back a little in his eagerness, but Sam wraps his arms firmly around Riley’s waist and kisses back with gusto. He can hear Morita whistling loudly.

Paul coughs. “Alright, boys, save some for later.”

Sam laughs as he pulls back, heart leaping and feeling so giddy he can hardly breathe for a second. He’s got a ring on his finger and Riley’s hand held tight in his. A whole room of their family and friends is gathered together to be there for them, to be happy and give them presents. Sam looks over at Riley and sees the same emotions written there he’s feeling. He squeezes Riley’s hand and smiles at him. Riley, his _husband_ , smiles back, and Sam can’t think of anything more he could want for a very long time.


	7. Feeling the burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter on a flight back from Hawaii, with an irritating and painful sunburn but, sadly, no Steve or Bucky to endure the pain of cuddling for.

It's become tradition for them to head to the cabin with the Commandos and Sam, Riley, Natasha, and Clint for the Fourth of July and Steve’s birthday. And everyone, of course, reminds Steve of the first time they went, when he had pneumonia and didn't know it.

Sleeping arrangements get a little more complicated; Clint and Natasha are definitely together now, and Dugan starts seriously dating a girl named Jessica who comes along, but there are only two rooms with just a double bed and the two married couples unabashedly claim them. Mostly, though, they spend a long weekend just like they did that first time—swimming, grilling, and canoeing.

Bucky's eyeing the water and plucking at the hem of his shirt. He glances out of the corner of his eye at Dugan's girlfriend, the only person he hasn't known for at least two years.

"Gonna give me a view?" Steve asks lightly, stretched out on a towel and shading his eyes to look up at Bucky. Bucky rolls his eyes.

"Don't pretend you're not ogling even with my shirt on."

Steve barks out a laugh. "So cocky."

"There are a few things I could say right now thanks to that word choice," Gabe informs them, shaking his head as he leaves them in the sand and runs for the lake. They both snort.

"I don't know," Bucky murmurs. "Maybe I don't wanna swim."

"You can leave your shirt on when you swim," Steve points out. "If you don't want to take your shirt off."

Bucky sighs a little. "I just thought..." He trails off and licks his lips. "It's not normal. But I guess I won't be normal if I take it off, too."

Steve sticks out his foot and pokes Bucky in the ankle with his toes.

"You have a much hotter body than is normal."

Bucky grimaces. "Not what I meant and you know it." He looks away, out over the water, eyes screwed up again the bright sun. Steve sits up and puts his arm around Bucky's legs.

"Hey," he says, craning his neck to look up at Bucky. "I know you're worried about what she'll think, and I know me saying it doesn't matter doesn't really help. So I'm just gonna say...do whatever feels best. And if she's got a problem, she can take it up with me."

Bucky smiles a little, looking down at Steve, and he presses his hand against the top of Steve's head.

"My hero," he says fondly, sounding like he's shooting for joking but it came out a little more serious. Steve blushes a little—Bucky still says stuff like that and tells Steve how much he helps, and Steve still isn't quite used to it.

But an hour goes by, and Bucky still hasn't taken his shirt off despite the way he's started to and stopped three times. Steve tries not to let Bucky see him noticing, not wanting to make him feel more self-conscious. He can see the discomfort and anxiety rolling off Bucky. He's working himself up worrying about it.

Steve bites his lip and takes a deep breath. Clint and Morita are wrestling around, both with defined back muscles standing out. Gabe and Dernier are playing chicken with Sam and Riley, all four with their shirts off and abs rippling. Falsworth is pale, at least, but nothing like Steve.

 _They're your friends_ , he reminds himself. He still falters for another second before he looks over at the way Bucky is clenching and unclenching his hands. Steve doesn't stop to think before he pulls his own shirt over his head and tosses it into the sand. He stands up.

"Wanna go swim?" He asks, bright and casual like it's totally normal for him to go shirtless around anyone other than Bucky and occasionally Sam.

Bucky's whole face softens, and for a second he's looking at Steve with such open tenderness and love Steve feels a lump in his throat. He knows Bucky loves him, knows how much he means to Bucky, but it still takes his breath away to see it written plainly on Bucky's face like that.

"Okay," Bucky says softly. He bites his lip and takes a deep breath and takes off his shirt. Steve makes a show of looking his body up and down, even licks his lips pointedly to make Bucky laugh. It's not like it's fake.

"Barnes!" Dugan yells when they get to the water. "Get your boy on your shoulders. We're next."

Steve mock-scowls. "Why do you assume I'll be on Bucky's shoulders instead of the other way around?"

"Have it your way," Bucky says, putting his hands on Steve's shoulders like he's going to hoist himself up. Steve laughs and leans back into Bucky's chest for a second. Bucky wasn't expecting it, and they stumble backwards.

"Maybe you should be on bottom," Bucky says.

"Save it for when you get home!" Natasha calls out. Everyone shrieks with laughter and Steve's face burns.

"I walked right into that one," Bucky says mournfully.

Riley finally topples into the water—purposefully keeping his legs clamped around Sam tightly and taking him under too, ignoring the curses and threats of his husband—and Dernier and Gabe shout triumphantly.

"Alright," Dugan says. "Jess and I are taking on Cap and Sarge. Winner'll take you guys and loser goes against the fly boys."

"You're going down," Jessica adds challengingly. Bucky's shoulder is tight against Steve's, but he says gamely,

"Yeah, right."

Steve goes under in about thirty seconds. In his defense, he's a little unsure about where he's supposed to grab onto on Jessica. She's wearing a teensy little bikini and Steve's never exactly been great with women in general. He rises from the water sputtering.

"Oh come on!" Dugan says. "All those muscles and you went under that quick?"

"My fault, not Bucky's," Steve says.

"Yeah, that's what I was saying," Dugan laughs. That catches Steve off guard. Muscles? Bucky grins at him and wraps his hand around Steve's bicep.

"Thor's workouts are doing their job," he says, squeezing. Steve rolls his eyes. No one's ever talked about him having muscles without being joking at best and outright mocking at worst. He knows no one's trying to be cruel. He just wishes they wouldn't tease him.

The day wears on. Steve and Bucky put up a good fight but lose to Sam and Riley, while Dugan and Jessica beat Dernier and Gabe only to fall to Natasha and Clint, bringing their winning streak to three years in a row.

They go inside and Steve and Bucky realize they've made a grave mistake.

"We didn't put sunscreen on where our shirts were," Bucky moans, staring in the mirror at the angry red of his shoulders and chest. Steve twists around and looks at his back. It's lobster-red.

"This is going to be painful," he whines. He's pale and blond with blue eyes, so he's well-versed in sunburn. It doesn't mean he's _used_ to it.

Bucky tries to put his shirt back on and whimpers a little when he raises his arms.

"Just leave it off," Steve advises, tossing his own shirt onto the bed with a sigh. He'd been okay going without his shirt outside, but only just; inside seems even worse.

"I'm sorry," Bucky says with a wince. "This is my fault."

"What?" Steve asks, surprised. "We both forgot sunscreen."

"You wouldn't have taken your shirt off at all if I hadn't been freaking out," Bucky mumbles, not meeting Steve's eyes. Steve wants to shake his head in disbelief. It's almost shocking to him that after three years of knowing each other—and two and a half _together_ together—Bucky still has trouble believing he deserves anything Steve does for him. But, Steve muses logically, he does the same thing sometimes.

He steps closer to Bucky and puts his hand on Bucky's hips. "You're right," he says evenly, because there's really no denying it. "I wouldn't have. But Buck, there's nothing to be sorry for. You do so much for me. I can handle a sunburn. I'd go naked for you."

Bucky gives Steve a weak little leer. "Care to make good on that promise?" It's halfhearted, but he's trying to lighten the mood, so Steve laughs. "Come on," Bucky sighs. "I know there's some aloe in the fridge."

Natasha hisses a little when she sees their skin. They take their lecture without complaint—they deserve it. As a fair-skinned redhead, Natasha is all too familiar with sunburn, so she's hyper-vigilant about sunscreen.

"Now go put aloe on your skin," she scolds after winding down. At least this time she didn't make them look at pictures of melanoma. Steve almost cries in relief when Bucky spreads the aloe on his back. It's so cold against his hot skin.

That night, they climb into bed after a final round of aloe, and neither of them can find a comfortable position.

"I can't lie on my back or my stomach," Bucky grumbles.

"I know," Steve commiserates. "Or your side either."

Bucky hums thoughtfully and shifts into his left shoulder. "Ha, robot arm for the win," he says triumphantly. Steve glares at him jokingly.

"Yes, I'm so happy for you," he snips. "I, your dear husband, will suffer silently."

Bucky snorts. "Saying you're going to suffer silently isn't suffering silently."

Steve waves a hand around. "Unimportant."

They quiet down and lie for a while. Something feels off and Steve can't figure out what it is until he realizes they're not touching anywhere. When they don't cuddle up—New York in August can be miserable, and even Steve gets too hot all pressed together—they at least hook ankles around each other, intertwine their arms, hold hands, _something_ , even when they go to bed mad, marriage advice to the contrary be damned.

Steve feels simultaneously mournful and ridiculous. Is he honestly going to be unable to fall asleep just because he's not touching Bucky? They're not attached at the hip. He'll live through the night. Besides, touching right now would hurt.

Steve bites back a sigh and tries not to move. Rubbing his back against the sheets won't help anything. He doesn't know how long it is before Bucky blows out a breath. "Steve," he says quietly. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah, you okay?"

The moon coming through the blinds is shining off Bucky's arm and his eyes as he turns to Steve, rising up onto his elbow. He's biting his lip.

"Does this hurt?" He asks, slipping his free arm around Steve's waist. It does, a little, where Steve's skin is already irritated from the sunburn meeting the waistband of his shorts, but it's not so bad.

"No," he says. "It's good." He stops himself from resting his head against Bucky's collarbone, like he normally would, and instead slips a hand up the leg of Bucky's shorts to rest against his thigh.

Bucky raises an eyebrow and Steve huffs a laugh. "Just want to touch you somewhere you're not burnt," he defends himself.

"I'm not burnt about two inches north and to the right," Bucky says, making Steve crack up laughing. Steve obligingly gives him an experimental squeeze, eliciting a breathless little giggle from Bucky, but nothing really happens for either of them.

"Hey, I tried," Steve shrugs.

"I appreciate that."

They're quiet again, heading more substantially toward sleep now.

"Dugan wasn't teasing," Bucky mumbles nonsensically. Steve would think he's sleep-talking if not for the sad fact that Bucky's sleep-talk is never innocuous.

"Huh?"

"You're buffer than you used to be."

Steve frowns a little. "Not exactly hard to do."

Bucky traces a light, idle pattern into Steve's hip. "He was trying to compliment you."

"I don't want anyone commenting on it at all," Steve snaps. He knows he's not much to look at. He knows people don't understand what Bucky sees in him. Even a positive comment saying he looks better than he used to is highlighting that.

Bucky just looks at him until he quits dodging and looks him in the eye. "I love your body," he says. "Did when every rib poked out and do now with your muscles."

Steve scoffs. "Muscles."

"Yeah, muscles," Bucky says, getting annoyed now. He taps gently on Steve's stomach. "Defined abs." He pokes Steve's nipple. "Pecs." He grabs Steve's upper arm. "Bicep."

"Still not what anyone else—"

"What the fuck do I care what anyone else's got under their clothes?" Bucky cuts him off. He dips his head and gives Steve's neck a barely-there ghost of a kiss. "Just care about what you got going on."

Steve doesn't really know how to react to that. He blushes a little, not that it's noticeable with how sunburnt his cheeks are.

"Okay," he says, because he can't think of anything else to say. Bucky moves a little closer and presses his lips to Steve's.

"Ow!"

"Shit!"

Turns out their lips are sunburnt, too, and that’s just not okay. Steve can handle a lot of things, but pain while kissing is not one of them, and he vows to never forget sunscreen again.


	8. Graduation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is SAPPY. So sappy. But it's in celebration of Just Say You Do hitting 1200 bookmarks!!! I can't believe that many people like my fic enough to bookmark it. Thank you, everyone!!!! Seriously. And congrats to anyone graduating soon!!!! I thought my own graduations were all kind of anticlimactic so it's okay if you feel that way, but I'm happy for you if it's great and wonderful and everything you thought it would be!

Steve hates graduations. They're always long and boring and the room is always too hot. They always make him miss his mother. The whole day is always full of platitudes and people being overly optimistic about a horrible job market.

But today—well. This graduation is important. One of the most important days of his life.

He wakes up first, with no alarm clock, by sheer force of will. And anxiety waking him up every hour so he doesn't miss his window. Slithering out of Bucky's arms without waking him is tough, and not something he has a lot of practice with since he usually doesn't _want_ to leave the tangle of Bucky's limbs around him, but he manages.

Luna lifts her head from her bed in the corner, ears pricked. Steve raises a finger to his lips and she obediently doesn’t make a sound. Bucky hadn’t been sure about getting a therapy dog a year and a half after they got married—“I can hardly take care of myself. How will I take care of anyone else?”—but the yellow lab turned out to be one of the best decisions they’d ever made. She goes everywhere with Bucky, and having her steady presence at his side is a godsend, especially when Steve can’t be with him.

He slips out of the room, Luna opting to stay behind and man her post watching over Bucky, and eases the front door open. Sam and Riley are waiting at the bottom of the stairs, as promised, with the box from the bakery.

"How's the man of the hour?" Sam asks, lifting the lid of the box to show Steve the cake. _ConGRADulations!!!_ Steve gives him a look.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into that bad pun," he says, shaking his head. "Bucky's fine. He's still asleep, but he was pretty nervous last night."

"Nervous?" Riley asks. "Didn't he already do the hard part?"

Steve shrugs. "You'd think. But he knows we're all going to watch him get his diploma and he's embarrassed about taking longer than usual."

"No one graduates in four years anymore," Sam reasons.

"Yeah, but most people don't take almost six years," Steve points out. "But it's _ridiculous_ for him to feel bad about it. After everything he's been through? Graduating at all is amazing. I want to shake him until he quits beating himself up."

Riley laughs. "Because that's logical." The sleeping baby in the carrier against his chest squirms a little. Steve holds onto a chubby fist.

"How's my Steven?" Steve coos. He's gotten much better at dealing with babies. Well, okay, maybe not _much_ , but better, at least.

"His name is Michael," Sam scolds.

"But his middle name is Steven," Steve says, not fighting the giant grin that pops onto his face. He had literally cried when Sam and Riley told him they were naming their son after him, even if it is his middle name. And then he'd cried more when they'd asked him to be Michael's godfather. And then he'd walked around for days speaking only in Don Corleone lines until Bucky finally threatened to find a horse head for him.

"Still teething," Riley reports. "So he is a snotty, drooling, screaming mess. He finally fell asleep on the way here. I don't know why the train is the only place he'll sleep."

"Poor guy," Steve commiserates, stroking over Michael's curls. "You guys sure you want to sit through the graduation? Buck'll understand."

"We'll be fine," Sam says, waving a hand. "A few frozen teething rings, a few cookies, a few tears, and we'll make it."

"The cookies are for us," Riley jokes.

"The tears too," Sam agrees.

Steve laughs. "Well, thanks for bringing the cake. I better get back in before Buck wakes up. Bring Mikey over some night and we'll babysit. You guys can go out."

"Shit, we're gonna _sleep_ ," Sam counters. "I haven't slept four hours in a row in months."

"I fell asleep in the shower yesterday," Riley says.

"That's not Mikey's fault," Sam teases, giving Riley's waist a squeeze. Riley rolls his eyes at Steve and he laughs again, waving goodbye. He gets the cake into the fridge and slides back into bed. Bucky makes a little snuffling sound and buries his face in Steve's neck.

"Where'd you go?" He mumbles, voice all low and scratchy with sleep the way Steve loves.

"Bathroom," Steve lies.

"Hm.” Bucky stretches up and plants a little kiss beneath Steve's ear, then hunts around for Steve's lips without opening his eyes. He gets Steve's chin, nose, and eye before he finds the target, and Steve's laughing by the time he gets there.

"Meant to do that," Bucky says, finally cracking an eye open. Steve strokes his cheek.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi," Bucky replies, smiling.

"Sleep good?"

"Sure, until my cuddle buddy left me." Bucky exaggerates a pout and Steve wrinkles his nose.

"Cuddle buddy? That's all I'm good for?"

"Oh, of course not," Bucky promises, dipping his head to suck at Steve's collar bone. Steve's breath hitches a little. Bucky rumbles out an interested little sound. "Well, good morning to you too," he jokes, reaching down and giving Steve a little cup that he arches into. "Yeah?" Bucky asks.

"Yeah," Steve pants. "You?"

"Getting there."

It’s not _so_ rare that they both get completely hard at the same time, but it’s rare enough that they might go a little crazy with it. Bucky gets up and sends Luna to the living room, which earns them both a highly affronted look they don’t spend much time worrying about.

It’s over an hour before they leave their room—a new record, for them—and then they continue the festivities in the shower, though that’s trickier due to Steve’s clumsiness, his poor vision without contacts or glasses, and Bucky’s shower issues. They end up snuggling upright more than anything else, and that’s good too.

“You’re not going to run?” Steve asks after they finally emerge. His legs are feeling a little weak, personally, but it’s going to be a tough day for Bucky.

Bucky huffs a little laugh. “I think we got a pretty good workout.” He’s better at handling things, even without a run first, than he used to be.

Steve blushes, even after all this time, and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You’re pretty proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Aren’t _you?_ ” Bucky counters, and Steve can’t lie—he is, a bit. Bucky can tell he’s thinking it and laughs. He goes to open the fridge and Steve remembers why he was planning to make Bucky breakfast.

“No!” He yells. Bucky freezes and Luna presses into his leg. “Don’t open the fridge,” Steve finishes lamely.

Bucky turns around, hands on his hips. “Is this some kind of surprise?”

“Yes,” Steve admits. Bucky’s trying to look stern, but he loves being surprised, and his lips are twitching as he fights a smile.

“But I’m hungry,” he says.

“I’ll make you something,” Steve promises. Now Bucky grins wide.

“Boy, what a day!” He exclaims. “Not even 9 am and it’s already the best day I’ve had all year.”

Steve snorts. “I think you’re forgetting Christmas.”

“Technically, that was last year,” Bucky points out snootily. “I’ll take the pup out while you make breakfast.”

“I was just going to pour you a bowl of cereal,” Steve says half-heartedly. Luna’s already at the door while Bucky finds his shoes, and Bucky salutes Steve cheekily as they leave the apartment.

“I’m feeling like pancakes.”

Steve grumbles a little, but he’s happy to make Bucky pancakes. He even arranges Luna’s food into a smiley face in her bowl, not that she’ll notice or stop for one second from eating it. But they’re going to have to hurry up to make it to graduation on time.

They have to rush a bit, and it takes a solid fifteen minutes to find Luna’s service dog vest, which leads to high tempers, but eventually they make it to campus and find the right building. Bucky had decided to opt out of commencement itself, the giant crowd of graduates too much for him, but he’s walking with the rest of the College of Engineering and will get his empty diploma holder with his classmates from the robotics department.

“Okay,” Bucky says nervously, running one hand through his hair and hanging onto Luna’s leash for dear life with the other. “I gotta go up there. Ma texted and said they’re here already and they’ve got a spot for you. She said Nat and Clint and Sam and Riley are with them, too, and all the boys. So. See you in a bit.”

Steve rises up on his tiptoes to give Bucky a kiss. “Hey,” he says quietly. “You made it. I’m proud of you, Buck.” A rush of emotion makes him cling tight to Bucky’s chest, a lump rising in his throat as he remembers that first year, when Bucky struggled through Frankenstein. “I’m really proud of you.”

Bucky rests his head against Steve’s for a minute, eyes closed tight, fingers clenched around Steve’s shirt. “Thanks,” he whispers.

“I love you,” Steve adds.

That gets Bucky to smile. “I love you, too,” he says, kissing Steve again.

“Steve!” They hear Winifred calling. Steve doesn’t have to turn to know George is waving his arms; Bucky’s groan says it all. Steve can’t help but crack up laughing.

“Go make them stop,” Bucky pleads, giving Steve a gentle little shove but keeping hold of his hand.

“Anything for you,” Steve says, exaggeratedly dopy, and Bucky snorts. He doesn’t have to tug at Luna to get her going; she’s an affectionate dog when they’re at home, but in a crowd like this she’s single-minded in her devotion to Bucky. Nothing makes Steve love her more, except maybe the times she lies on his feet and keeps them warm.

Winifred gives him a hug as soon as he’s close enough, and he can tell she’s barely keeping a lid on her emotions. That’s going to make it harder for him. Steve has to climb over Bucky’s entire family to get to the empty seat beside Natasha, and none of them seem to even notice. If you grow up being consistently climbed over by your own siblings, he figures, one more person becomes white noise.

Natasha pats Steve’s knee after he sits down, then grins. “Your quads are feeling strong.”

Steve squirms, uncomfortable but pleased at the praise. “Thor’s got me jumping rope now, too.”

Clint leans around Natasha. “Sam’s asleep,” he tattles.

Steve leans forward to look, and yep, Sam’s asleep, Michael resting against his chest. Riley shushes them all insistently, despite the fact that there are hundreds of people in the room, and not even a second later Dugan booms down the line of chairs,

“Heya, Cap!”

Sam doesn’t crack an eye, though at this point it seems more willful than anything else. Dugan does look abashed when Michael starts to squall and then sets off Becca’s youngest, Abigail.

“Look what you did!” Morita scolds in the row behind them, his own arms full of his wriggling three-year-old, Sasha.

“Daddy, down!” Sasha requests. “I want Uncle Dum!”

Morita happily hands her off to a grinning Dugan, who soon finds himself laden with children. Sasha gets the coveted spot on his left shoulder, while Dernier’s son clings to his shin and Gabe’s little girl bounces on his knee. The real trouble arrives when the twins come back from the bathroom.

“Hey!” Lucas yells with the lungs of a four-year-old, dropping his mother’s hand in outrage. “That’s _my_ dad!”

“Sasha, move!” Linus wails, stomping his foot. Monty tries to appease him with a piece of candy, but it doesn’t do much.

Beside Steve, Natasha shakes her head. “I have a headache even from here,” she says as Dugan tries to appease all five children at once. Steve agrees, but he feels a little guilty about it. From afar, he enjoys everyone’s children. One at a time. When they congregate in groups they get so…screamy.

The ceremony gets started soon after, and all the children settle back into their respective parents’ laps, scolded or bribed into silence for the time being. Steve drifts a little through the opening remarks, thinking about the party they’re going to have at Winifred and George’s house and the cake waiting in the fridge at home.

“And now we’d like to welcome our student speaker,” the emcee, one of the engineering professors, announces. Steve’s shifting in his seat, restless, when he catches sight of Tony and Pepper across the aisle. Bruce Banner and his wife, Betty, are in the same row, and Helen Cho is behind them with her girlfriend, Jane Foster.

Steve waves at Pepper, who smiles broadly and waves back. Tony sticks out his tongue, which seems par for the course, and Steve rolls his eyes. Tony will swear up and down he came out of obligation because he partners with the school for the internships with his labs, but Steve knows Tony loves Bucky.

“Bucky Barnes,” the professor says, making Steve jolt. Are they already calling names? But no, Bucky’s the only one standing up. Steve’s mouth drops open. This can’t mean—

“He’s speaking?” Natasha asks.

“I…guess so,” Steve says, dazed. He glances down the row and sees every single face etched in shock. Bucky kept is a secret from everyone, apparently.

“Hi, everybody,” Bucky says, adding a wave so endearingly dorky it makes Steve’s stomach hurt a little. Luna has her little butt settled directly onto one of Bucky’s feet so he can focus on the contact. “Um, I’m Bucky Barnes. Like he said.” Bucky huffs with self-deprecating laughter. “I’m a little nervous. I don’t usually like to be in front of crowds like this.”

He scratches the back of his neck and meets Steve’s eye. Steve shakes his head, wonderingly, and signs, _Why didn’t you tell me_? Bucky just shrugs a little, a sheepish little smile on his face, and Steve adds, _I love you, asshole_. That makes Bucky laugh, and he looks down at his notes again.

“So, when Dr. Pym first approached me about giving this speech, I said no way. Public speaking isn’t exactly something I seek out. When he asked, I wasn’t even sure I was going to come to graduation at all.” He clears his throat. “It took me a little longer to get here than most of you. It took me a little longer to even get _started_ , let alone finish. And it’s not like I’m top of the class or anything, so I didn’t know why he’d be asking me.”

Bucky bites his lip, pauses to take a deep breath, and leans his leg into Luna a little more before squaring his shoulders. “But Dr. Pym said…well, we had a talk about perseverance, so. I realized I had some stuff to say on that topic.

All of us had to persevere to get here. And some of you might be thinking, _hey, my life’s been pretty easy,_ and I’m happy if that’s you, I honestly am. I wish everyone could say that, even though a lot of us have had a lot of, uh, hardships to deal with to even get to this campus. But even if you think your life’s been a real cake walk, to end up sitting here you still had to get through your classes and exams and dealing with Dr. Lang at least once.”

A burst of laughter goes up from the robed students, some turning to look at the professor in question. Steve’s met him once or twice, an absent-minded kind of guy who talks like a surfer and seems to forget that not everyone can follow his engineering-speak. When he’d realized Steve was responsible for Captain America, he’d lost it for a few minutes, and Steve and Bucky hadn’t been able to get away until Steve signed a mug for him.

“We all had late-night cram sessions, and projects that blew up on us—sometimes literally.” Everyone laughs again. “And maybe during your time here you had to deal with breakups, or coming out, or losing family members. Everyone’s had to live through a lot to get here. I’m sure everyone’s felt like they weren’t going to make it, at least once, right? Now, see, me, I’m really lucky.”

There’s an incredulous kind of murmur from people who remember Bucky’s story, and it makes Bucky’s lips twist in a sad little smile. Steve’s hands are clenching and unclenching, almost independently from his thoughts. Bucky is laying himself bare up there. Or, as close to laying himself bare as he really ever gets with a roomful of people he doesn’t know.

“No, I am,” he promises. “Even with all the stuff that happened to me. I’ve always had a great family in my corner. My parents would do anything for me, have done crazy things for me that always paid off in the end.” He stops for a second and swallows. “They never gave up on me. And I know they never will. And I’ve got three sisters who’ve been with me every step of the way. A brother-in-law who’ll pick me up for a drive in the middle of the afternoon without asking any questions. Two nephews and two nieces who don’t know anything about me being weird or scary or anything, just see the guy who’ll play with them and sneak them extra cookies before dinner. I’ve got friends who’ve been with me through hell, literally, and came back and lived through living, too, and new friends who didn’t mind if the guy they got was a little banged up and crazy.”

Bucky looks down at the podium, at his notes, and then looks up and looks straight at Steve. Steve can’t breathe. He can’t believe Bucky did all this—how long has he known he was speaking? How long has he been working on that speech? Did he practice? Did he get any sleep last night or was he agonizing over it while Steve drooled beside him?

“My husband—” He stops to shuffle his notecards around. Steve’s already got tears in his eyes and Bucky hasn’t even said his piece yet. “My husband literally got me through school. Sometimes he had to give me a kick when I wanted to give up. Sometimes he had to read to me when I just couldn’t get the words right anymore. Sometimes—a lot of times—he had to sit there and listen to me cry over how I couldn’t get anything right and how I failed another class.” Bucky stops, biting his lip.

Steve will never forget the first time Bucky came home after finding out he wouldn’t pass his freshman-level English class, meaning he’d have to retake it before he could take his required upper-division class. It was the first of many setbacks in his carefully planned academic schedule, and it remains one of the most heartbreaking days of Steve’s life.

“I had the website open to drop all my classes and withdraw from school at least three times,” Bucky reveals. “Had my finger on the mouse and everything. And every time, I thought about what he says to me at the end of every semester.” He looks up and smiles at Steve. “He says, _hey Buck. You made it. I’m so proud of you_.” Bucky’s eyes are shiny with tears and Steve’s cheeks are wet.

He can hear Winifred to his right openly weeping, and little George asking fretfully, “Gramma sad? Don’t cry.”

“So, perseverance,” Bucky goes on. “It’s about pushing through to the end because you know the payoff is worth it. What’s our payoff here? A piece of paper? A sense of accomplishment? A black hole of debt? Maybe, if we’re lucky, a job that doesn’t slowly suck out our souls?” A few people laugh, but Steve sees a few wide-eyed faces that seem like Bucky’s maybe hitting a little close to home.

“I don’t know, guys,” Bucky admits, laughing a little. “I got no idea, in the grand scheme of things. All I know is my payoff is seeing my ma bawling her eyes out over there, and a party my family’s got waiting for me, and my best guy saying he’s proud of me. And you know what? That means the world to me. I’ve been through a lot in my life, and it puts things in perspective. And if I can make those people I love proud of me, then it’s worth all the frustration and tears and heart palpitations I gave myself from too much caffeine.”

He bites his lip again. His bottom lip is starting to get all swollen and red, like they’ve been lying in bed kissing for hours. Steve wishes they were at home doing just that. Except he’s enjoying Bucky’s speech. More than that, he’s enjoying what Bucky’s speech means—Bucky is doing this big, scary thing, because he wanted Steve to be proud of him. Steve shakes his head a little. It’s not like it’s tough for Bucky to make him proud. He starts every day damn proud Bucky even got out of bed.

“But I was thinking, you know, not everyone’s as lucky as I am. Maybe you don’t have family or friends here for you. Hell, I’m taking up about four rows, so I can understand if maybe some people got shoved out of the room. Maybe no one came to see you. Maybe no one even knows you’re here besides the rest of us in this room. And I don’t know all of you. I’ve had classes with some of you, and I’ve seen most of you passed out in the engineering building plenty of times. But I know you got here, and I know it was hard, so I want to make sure you hear this, in case you don’t have anyone else to say it to you. You made it. I’m so proud of you.” His voice breaks a little and he smiles through it.

“Anyway, I don’t know how much it matters. I’m just some weird old married guy who sits in the front of the room with his dog and still takes notes by hand. But for what it’s worth, I really am. I’m proud of you. And I’m proud of myself. I’m proud of all of us. So, you know. Let’s go…take on the world, or whatever. At the very least, let’s go get some sleep and not worry about finals anymore. Thanks.” He nods once, then taps on Luna’s head to get her up.

The applause goes on for a long time. Steve sees more than one of Bucky’s classmates with tears in their eyes. Bucky hunches his shoulders a little as the cheering goes on, flinching a little when a few people reach out and pat him on the back. Steve’s heart feels swollen and full. He wants to run up to the front of the room, he wants to throw his arms around Bucky’s neck and squeeze him as tight as possible, he wants to bellow at everyone to stop staring at Bucky…his emotions are all swirling around and contradicting each other.

“Damn,” Sam says. “That was a hell of a speech.”

“Yeah,” Steve manages to get out.

“You must really be rubbing off on him,” Sam goes on. Steve blinks a few times, incredulous. Sam can’t possibly be making a lewd joke right now.

“Must be rubbing off a lot,” Clint adds, smirking, and Steve shakes his head. Clint absolutely _can_ be making a lewd joke, any time.

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes,” the emcee says. “We’re going to get started reading the names now. Graduates, you’ll stand row by row and follow the line. Pause at the end of the stage for a photo. Please hold your applause until the end.”

Steve’s whole face wrinkles in disapproval. He does not want to hold his applause until the end. He wants to scream his pride for everyone to hear when Bucky’s name is called. Bucky may not appreciate that, though. And besides, it wouldn’t be fair if everyone else follows the rule and only Steve breaks it. Then Bucky would be the only one to get cheers in the moment.

So Steve is obedient, and when the professor reading names says, “James Buchanan Barnes” he manages to hold his tongue, even if he does leap up out of his seat in excitement. The professor handing out the diplomas shakes Bucky’s hand for a long time, murmuring something to him that makes Bucky duck his head, cheeks flushing a little but a smile playing across his lips. They even give Luna a little mini-diploma that she holds in her mouth proudly, Steve is sure, and Bucky grins so wide Steve yanks out his phone and gets a picture. He’s going to draw that, no doubt about it.

Steve thinks he’s going to climb the walls as they wait for everyone else’s names to be called. He’s trying to be patient, but it’s not like he’s ever been good at that. Sam hands Michael over in an effort to keep Steve occupied, but it only partially works.

He needs to get to Bucky. He needs to kiss Bucky within an inch of his life and hold Bucky against his chest and tell Bucky a thousand times how amazing he is.

Steve might be getting over emotional.

The graduation finally ends, and everyone cheers and claps and whistles and hollers. Dugan yells, “Wahoo!” over and over until Lucas covers his mouth with sticky little hands and says,

“Daddy, inside voices!”

Bucky pushes through the crowd, but people keep wanting to stop and talk to him, and he’s still not totally comfortable with people brushing up against him, so he’s hesitant to wade into the fray.

Steve isn’t. He shoves past people with a halfhearted, “Excuse me,” tossed over his shoulder, his only purpose in life narrowed down to getting to Bucky’s side. He finally gets there and Bucky all but collapses against him.

“Bucky,” Steve says helplessly. “I can’t believe—you didn’t even tell me—I—”

“Sorry,” Bucky says, and Steve has to pull him down for a long kiss.

“I’m not mad,” he says, a laugh bubbling up out of his throat. “ _God_ , Buck. I’m so proud I could explode.”

“You already did,” Bucky reminds him, right in his ear so no one else will hear it. “Twice. Remember?”

Steve laughs, and normally he’d shoved Bucky away but he can’t even play at it today. He burrows even closer instead, holding Bucky so tight it has to be painful, but Bucky doesn’t complain.

“I love you so much,” Steve chokes out, a little surprised at how emotional he’s getting. Sure, he thought he might get a bit choked up—Bucky worked so hard to get here, and kept getting back up after each setback—but he didn’t expect _this_.

“I love you, too,” Bucky says. “I don’t even…I can’t even tell you, Steve. You got me here.”

“No,” Steve protests instantly. “I might’ve helped, Buck, but _you_ got you here. Okay? You did this.” He pushes back to put his hands on Bucky’s face and squeezes his cheeks a little. “You earned this, and I’m so proud.”

Bucky laughs, giddy with adrenaline and probably a little weirded out by how fierce Steve is being right now, and crowds against Steve to kiss him again.

“Can you spare a hug for your mother?” Winifred asks. She’s watching them with her hands pressed over her heart, eyes puffy, and Steve feels a rush of warmth for her, too. The woman responsible for bringing them together.

“Ma,” Bucky says, voice cracking just on that one word, and he releases Steve to squeeze his mother. “Thank you,” Steve thinks he hears him say. “Thank you for my whole life.”

“I love you, my darling boy,” Winifred says, and now Steve’s crying again. Bucky accepts hugs from his dad, equally heartfelt but less tearful as Winifred, and each of his sisters and his aunts, and then Jamie launches himself into Bucky’s arms despite the fact that he’s nearly eight years old now and way too big to be doing that kind of thing.

Then, of course, the other three kids want to climb on Bucky, and soon the Commandos and Sam and Riley and Natasha and Clint come over, and their party begins to form a blockade in the aisle as they take pictures.

“Why don’t we all meet back at home,” Winifred suggests after she’s gotten a picture of Bucky with pretty much every single person present. “The party’s waiting.”

“Hey,” Steve says as everyone starts to file out. He nudges Bucky and nods toward Tony, Bruce, and Helen. “Did you see them?”

Bucky lights up. “Wow, I didn’t think they were gonna come.”

Steve almost wants to roll his eyes. Everyone loves Bucky. Everyone is proud of him and wants to support him. But he’s still surprised about it all.

“Hi,” he says, almost shyly, to the people responsible for his arm. “Thanks for coming.”

“I had to be here,” Tony says, predictably. “I give money to the school, you know.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Bucky agrees easily. “And since you skip the donor dinner every year you better come to graduation to make up for it.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Keeping an eye out for me, huh? I always knew you reciprocated my passions. Don’t tell the attack dog. And I don’t mean the lab on the leash there.”

Now Steve does roll his eyes. Tony elicits that reaction from him more often than not, though it’s usually mostly fond. Or at least equally fond and exasperated.

“Congratulations, Bucky,” Betty says. “Graduating from college is an incredible accomplishment.” Bucky smiles wryly, because everyone gathered in front of them has way more than college under their belt and Betty herself has about forty advanced degrees, but there’s nothing hidden in her words. She’s genuinely happy for him.

Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand. “We’re going back to Bucky’s parents’ house for a party,” he says. “You’re welcome to come.”

Tony’s eyes light up. “To the _suburbs_? How quaint. Will there be _potato salad_?”

“No,” Bucky says flatly, even though Steve can tell he’s amused. “I hate potato salad.”

“I thought that was what you suburbanites lived on. Just buckets of potato salad.”

“Thank you for inviting us,” Helen breaks in. “I have to take Jane to the airport—she’s headed to London for a conference. But congratulations, Bucky. Truly. I’m very proud of the steps you’ve taken to come so far.”

“Thank you,” Bucky murmurs. They all make their goodbyes and Steve and Bucky make it to the party, last to show up and drawing titters from everyone about their whereabouts.

They eat dinner and endure Uncle Edgar badgering Bucky about what he’s going to do now—“Need more schooling, don’t you? Your fancy degree won’t do much for you these days, huh?”—and Steve successfully avoids fighting him yet again. It helps that Luna growls at him enough to make him back off, even if she’d never attack unless someone was actively hurting Bucky.

Tony does show up, fascinated by how “the 99%” live, and he tries to rile Steve up by pretending the Barneses are practically destitute by his standards. Pepper abandons him to introduce Betty to Natasha and Beth and Bailey, so Bruce takes over wrangling him as best he can.

It’s a good day, but Steve can tell when Bucky hits his limit and needs to leave. As he knew it would be, it’s before dessert. Steve knows Bucky feels guilty, because Winifred no doubt has a giant cake, but he also knows that Bucky has had a long day full of emotion and adrenaline and anxiety.

“Winifred,” Steve says quietly.

“Time to go?” She asks.

“He’s trying to hang in there,” Steve confirms. “But just look at him.”

Bucky’s standing with his back against the wall, Luna in front of him like a guard, and he’s staring down into his cup of fruit punch like it holds the answers to the universe. Gabe catches Steve’s eye from across the room and flicks his head toward Bucky. Steve nods and signs _on it_ and Gabe gives him a thumb’s up.

Winifred walks over with Steve, and Bucky looks up guiltily at her. “Thanks for the party, Ma, really,” he starts. “But I’m sor—”

“Don’t,” she cuts him off. “James, don’t apologize for what you need. I love you, and I’m proud of you, and I want what’s best for you. So go home.”

Bucky leans in and hugs her, dropping a kiss to the top of her head before he releases her. “You’re the best ma in the world,” he says, wincing guiltily at Steve ridiculously, like it’ll hurt Steve’s feelings that Bucky thinks that. Everyone says goodbye, but luckily no one asks why they’re leaving so early. Everyone knows Bucky needs to get away.

They’re mostly quiet on the way home. Bucky leans against Steve’s shoulder on the train, and Luna sits with her head on Bucky’s knee the whole time. Bucky strokes a hand on her head, occasionally telling her what a good girl she is, and it fills up some tender part of Steve.

He unlocks the door and leads Bucky inside, pushing him down onto the couch. Steve drops to the ground and starts unlacing Bucky’s shoes.

“Hey, I can do that,” Bucky protests. If he were actually upset about it, Steve would back off—there was a time Bucky _couldn’t_ do that, and Steve understands wanting to prove you can—but Bucky mostly just sounds exhausted and like he’s putting up a token argument. Steve kisses Bucky’s knee.

“I know you can,” he says. “But I want to.” Bucky relents, slumping back against the pillows. Luna jumps up on the couch beside him. Usually, she’s not allowed on the couch, and she doesn’t disobey that, but she snuggles into Bucky’s side and he sighs a little, relieved and comforted to be at home with Steve and the dog.

After Steve gets both their shoes off and throws them over into a corner (Bucky’s exhaustion showing starkly in the way he doesn’t complain about that), he sits at Bucky’s other side and pulls him over slightly, so he’s resting against Steve’s chest. Bucky nuzzles his face against Steve’s shirt for a minute.

“You want the surprise now or later?” Steve asks.

Bucky takes his time thinking about it, weighing the day’s labors with his love of presents and surprises.

“What level?” He asks tiredly.

“Two,” Steve says. “If that. One, really. Nothing.”

Years ago, they’d started rating things on a scale of one to ten by how emotionally taxing they’d be, and the only rules for the system were they had to be completely honest, they had to take the day’s or week’s events into context when rating, and they had to honor each other’s limits for the day. It had started out with them setting their own levels; Bucky would ask Steve _what level would going to Aunt Kay’s for Christmas be?_ or Steve would ask Bucky _what’s going to a con this weekend?_ Eventually, they’d gotten good enough at rating—and each other—to gauge things and warn each other.

“I can handle up to a two,” Bucky decides, rubbing his head around in a way that means he wants Steve to play with his hair. Steve is all too happy to oblige. “But do you have to get up for it?”

“Just for a second.” Steve promises.

Bucky hums. “In the fridge?”

“In the fridge.”

Bucky sighs. “Okay. Hurry up.”

Steve huffs. “Impatient.”

“I just want you to hurry up and get up so you’ll be back sooner.”

On a normal day, Steve would groan over how cheesy that is, maybe smack Bucky with a pillow in retaliation. But Bucky graduated today, which would afford him all kind of privileges anyway, and he’s overwrought and gave a speech and is emotionally maxed out. Steve stands but ducks back in for a quick kiss, tapping a finger on Bucky’s chin.

“I’ll be right back,” he promises, and he is, with the cake and two forks. Bucky smiles when he sees the bakery box.

“How’d you know we’d leave before cake, huh?” He asks, taking the box from Steve and settling it on the coffee table.

“Oh, I had a hunch.” They rarely make it to dessert on a day when Bucky has to deal with a lot of people, never mind the roller-coaster they’ve had today. He hands Bucky a fork and Bucky sets it down, tugging Steve over half into his lap instead of setting to work on the cake.

“Thanks, Steve,” he whispers. “You know? Thanks.”

“I do know,” Steve says, throat tight. He rests his forehead against Bucky’s. “And you’re welcome. A thousand times, a million times, you know that. As many times as you need. I’m always gonna be there when you need me.”

His eyes are closed but he can feel Bucky’s smile against his face. “I’m so grateful for FAFSA.” That startles a bark of laughter from Steve.

“I’m grateful for your mom,” Steve says. There’s a beat of nothing, and then they both break into giggles.

“That was—” Bucky laughs so hard he snorts and it sets them both off again. “Not usually how people tell _your mom_ jokes,” he gasps.

“It wasn’t a joke!” Steve protests, stomach aching with laughter as he collapses against Bucky’s chest. Luna is watching them both judgmentally. They settle down, still chortling every once in a while. Bucky is skimming his hands over Steve’s back, drawing aimless little patterns.

“I was writing that speech and I just kept thinking…God, I’m so _lucky_. Why do I get to be so lucky? How’d I get such a good family, you know? And I just happened to end up with the best unit? Why didn’t someone else’s mom ask you to fake marry her son? Or daughter? Why didn’t you end up with someone better?”

“Hey,” Steve says, not laughing now. “I don’t want anyone else. There’s no one better for me. Don’t say things like that.”

“I don’t mean…” Bucky tightens his hold on Steve. “I didn’t mean I don’t think I deserve you. I’m getting—well, I’m starting to see what Sam means when he says that’s sort of insulting to you, when I say that. But I just mean, you know, of all the guys in New York, how’d we find each other?”

“You know what Riley would say,” Steve says.

Bucky smiles, but it’s not mocking. “I think I agree with him.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in fate,” Steve reminds him, thinking of a conversation they’d had years ago.

“I don’t know,” Bucky says. “I thought I didn’t. But I just can’t help but think…there’s no way all this was chance, you know? No one’s just that _lucky_.”

“Well, you did have a lot of shit happen to you,” Steve points out. “In case you forgot. You deserved some good breaks.”

Bucky shrugs. “Maybe,” he says. “But I think it’s fate. I think…I think maybe even if all that hadn’t happened, we woulda found each other. You’d be, you know, I think you’d be an art teacher or something, and I’d drop by class because Bailey was one of your students, and I’d see you and I’d fall in love right away.”

Steve scoffs a little. “There’s no such thing as love at first sight.”

“Fine,” Bucky relents. “I’d see you and fall in _lust_ right away. And I’d try every pickup line in the book until you finally agreed to go out with me.”

Steve laughs. “Or maybe,” he says. “We’d be in school at the same time. And we’d be in the same American government class. And I’d get all fired up about…”

“Anti-gay legislation,” Bucky supplies.

“Oh, I would get _so_ fired up,” Steve agrees. “And some asshole would be _playing devil’s advocate_ and I’d get so mad I’d get kicked out of class, and I’d wait around because I wanted to keep arguing with the guy, and you’d come out of class ten minutes later because _you_ kept arguing and got kicked out too.”

Bucky snorts. “You think I’d pick up your fight?”

“I know you would,” Steve says softly, tracing a finger down Bucky’s jaw. “You always do.”

Bucky smiles at him, and he smiles back, and they sit there smiling at each other, all wrapped up together and thinking about different people they’d be, always together. Steve can’t remember, later, who moved first, but their quiet contemplation turns into sweet kisses, the ones he’d been thinking about during the ceremony, and Bucky sighs into Steve’s mouth the way he always does and makes Steve want to sing with happiness.

They pull apart some time later, and Bucky brushes Steve’s hair off his forehead. “So,” he says.

“So,” Steve echoes, grinning fit to burst.

“You gonna quit holding up this show and give me some cake or what?”

Steve doesn’t shove the cake in Bucky’s face, because that would make a mess, but he does hit him with a throw pillow. He does it gently, and Bucky’s had time to decompress after the stressful day, and he’d absolutely known it was coming.

It doesn’t stop him from pretending to be wounded by it, so that Steve relents and starts to apologize, only to be cut off by Bucky stuffing a bite of cake into his open mouth. Steve sputters out a muffled scream, and Bucky’s laughing hard enough to shake the couch and send Luna huffing away. Some of the cake falls out of Steve’s mouth and lands on Bucky’s leg, and he snatches it up and pops it into his own mouth, and then they’re both laughing so hard Steve almost chokes and Bucky has to hit him on the back a few times to help him out.

Steve is thirty years old, and he’s acting like a teenager, and he’s happy and warm and safe and so in love he sometimes doesn’t think he can even stand it. And as he snuggles down beside Bucky to watch _Far and Away_ and feed each other bites of cake off forks like civilized people, he decides he doesn’t want any of those other lives.

Maybe they’d be easier, or at least they’d be easier in some ways, but the thought of missing out on any of this—the dog who’s farting to punish them for startling her off the couch, the endless selfies they’re getting from progressively more inebriated friends and family members at a party without them, the nightmares Bucky will scream through and wake them both up with and the way he’ll clutch onto Steve to get through it, the bad day Steve is due to have in the next few weeks where he’ll hardly leave the bed and Bucky will lie beside him for hours at a time, not speaking and not scolding and not judging—solidifies it in his mind.

Maybe Bucky’s right. Maybe they’d still find each other if their lives were different. But they found each other in this life, and that’s all Steve wants.


	9. Lights, Camera...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, I did NOT realize it had been so long since I'd posted an extra! So sorry. Here is some ~movie magic~ (or not so magic) on the set of the Captain America movie. In case you can't tell from the chapter, I've never been to a set and am basing it all on behind-the-scenes footage of my faves and other TV/movies about TV/movies.

“I’m sorry, sir, no animals are allowed on set,” some assistant who’s been assigned to herd them—Henry—tells them. He’s wincing a little, like telling the creator of the comic book the movie is based on his husband’s dog isn’t allowed is genuinely the lowest part of his day. Steve hopes it is.

“She’s a service dog,” Bucky says. There’s no hint of strain in his voice to an outsider, but Steve knows how tired he is of defending Luna in every store, restaurant, and building he walks into. He points to her vest.

“Um…” Now Henry looks uneasy.

“Would you like to take it up with the Americans with Disabilities Act?” Steve asks, ready to launch into a longer argument if necessary. Henry swallows.

“No, sir,” he says meekly, and then Steve feels a little bad for the kid.

Steve’s trying not to look too much like a bumpkin as he looks at the sets, but they’re incredible. He’s never been to a set before, not for real. In the fourth grade he went on a class trip to a local cable show, but there had only been a backdrop of the city skyline there.

They’re shooting the scene with Cap punching Hitler in the face today, so the set’s all done up in dark, moody colors to show off the secret bunker Hitler’s been hiding in. It’s all a bit more campy than Steve’s original vision—the comic is a lot darker than this, but it’s technically Disney and he’d had to make concessions in some places—but it doesn’t look too goofy.

“Oh, here’s our Cap!” Henry says. “Hi, Will!”

The guy looks over, all chiseled jaw and action-figure abs, and gives them a nod. “Hi,” he says, looking mostly bored. “Will Simpson.”

“Steve Rogers,” Steve says, sticking out his hand. Simpson shakes it politely, a benign little smile on his face.

“Mr. Rogers wrote the comic,” Henry supplies, going a little red and shooting Steve an apologetic look. Simpson’s smile turns up about four notches.

“Wow, such an honor to have you here, Mr. Rogers,” he says. It’s smarmy and almost condescending and Steve wills himself to stay calm.

“This is my husband, James Barnes,” Steve says.

“Ah, the sidekick,” Simpson laughs. Steve frowns.

“Guess so,” Bucky says with a rueful little laugh. His hand is clenched tight around Luna’s leash, but other than that he seems fine. “Nice job getting the part. I heard there were a lot of guys in the mix.”

“Yeah, well.” Simpson gives an _aw shucks_ shrug. “I have you to thank for that, don’t I?” He asks Steve. “You had final approval.”

“I okayed you, but the studio made the decision,” Steve says. “I didn’t really do anything for the movie.”

“You just wrote the comic!” Henry reminds everyone. Henry seems like maybe he’s interested in getting some free comics or something.

“That’s right.” Bucky shoots Steve a smile. “Without Steve there wouldn’t be a movie at all.”

Steve’s cheeks are heating up, and he murmurs, “Buck,” as he ducks his head. Bucky’s smile widens, but he changes the subject.

“So, giving Hitler the ol’ what for today, huh?” He says. “Glad we get to watch that. He kept me waiting the whole time he was writing the damn thing.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “He couldn’t just punch Hitler and then the war go on. It had to be the _end_.”

“Sure, sure,” Bucky says, waving his free hand around. “You creative types and your process, I get it.”

It makes Steve snort, and he can tell from the happy look on Bucky’s face that was his plan all along. Steve’s heart swells up a bit. Even here, with too much open space around them and a tightness in his shoulders Steve longs to smooth away, Bucky is looking out for him and making sure he’s okay.

“Hey, don’t knock the process,” Simpson jokes, and Bucky laughs, holding up his hands in surrender.

“I’m outnumbered here. I need some more of my kind to back me up.”

“Your kind?” Henry asks. Steve raises an eyebrow, because he can think of a few things he’d supply here if they were alone or at least around their friends.

“Meatheads,” Bucky says, just as Simpson guesses,

“Models?”

Bucky scoffs, surprised. “I’m no model.”

Simpson shrugs. “I don’t think my guess is so out there. You’re definitely built for it.”

Steve can’t believe his ears. Who does this guy think he is? Coming on to Bucky with Steve right at his side? Bucky shifts his weight a little, and Steve can tell he’s uncomfortable. _Simpson_ can’t tell. Simpson probably doesn’t even remember Bucky’s name.

“Oh, Mr. Simpson, we’re ready,” someone calls from the actual set itself, and Simpson grins with big, white teeth.

“Duty calls,” he says. “Maybe we can grab lunch after?” Steve doesn’t think he’s imagining the way Simpson’s eyes linger on Bucky’s face as he asks. The _nerve_ of this guy. Steve doesn’t even respond, so Bucky shrugs.

“Sure, maybe,” he says, and Simpson heads off. Bucky looks at Steve questioningly, but Steve shakes his head. It’s nothing, really, and he’s certainly not mad at Bucky. Bucky probably didn’t even realize Simpson was flirting. He was uncomfortable with Simpson talking about his body, so he probably blocked out the rest of it.

Watching them film is, quite frankly, pretty boring. Steve’s not really in love with the dialogue changes in the script, but he doesn’t hate them, either, so he deals with it. The guy playing Hitler is a bit over the top, and they do the same two-minute sequence about eight times with no difference Steve can see.

“Isn’t it exciting?” Henry asks eagerly.

“Oh—yeah,” Steve lies. Bucky laughs a little under his breath but Steve resolutely doesn’t look at him.

“Seeing your work coming to life like that,” Henry sighs, and Steve reassess him a bit. Maybe he’s less interested in getting _free_ comics and more interested in making his own.

“That part is pretty awesome,” Steve admits, trying to think of a good way to ask Henry if he writes comics.

“Okay, we’re good!” The director calls. Simpson jogs back over to them, smiling widely.

“Lunch?” He asks, raising his eyebrows hopefully. Bucky looks at Steve, who just shrugs. Simpson isn’t really asking him.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “I could eat.”

Simpson has a driver, which is nice, though there’s a brief moment where it’s clear Simpson doesn’t really want Luna in the car but doesn’t want to bring it up. Bucky pretends not to notice, but Steve can see the way his lips tighten. Steve drops his hand to the small of Bucky’s back as they’re getting in the car and Bucky rewards him with a smile. It’s a pretty great reward.

“Okay, I’ll see you when you get back for the rest of your tour,” Henry says.

“Oh, you’re not coming?” Steve asks. Henry goes bright red and Bucky covers a little laugh with a cough.

“Um, no, I’m—”

“Come on, Henry, if our comic book hero wants you, we certainly won’t leave you behind,” Simpson says. Henry glances over his shoulder toward the set, and then slides in next to Steve with a grin lighting up his whole face. If Winifred were there, she’d probably pinch the kid’s cheeks. He’s adorable.

“I’ve never been to lunch with a real comic artist,” Henry confides quietly.

“Do you draw?” Steve asks, finally giving up on working it in strategically.

“I…well, I try,” Henry admits. “I’m not real good, though.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Bucky says kindly. Henry goes red again.

“Henry probably took this job hoping he’d get lucky and meet someone like you,” Simpson chimes in from the front seat.

“Well…” Henry looks a little nervous and Bucky laughs.

“Smart way to do it,” he praises.

“You’ll have to show me some of your work sometime,” Steve says, and Henry kind of looks like he’s going to cry.

The restaurant seats them right away, despite the people waiting in the lobby, and Steve feels bad. They don’t even question Luna, which is sort of a relief, though Steve can feel himself wanting to be annoyed about it because it’s probably only because they’re with Simpson.

“So,” Simpson says after they’re seated and everyone’s trying not to be the one to eat the last breadstick. “You’re a genuine American hero, huh?”

Bucky’s jaw clenches infinitesimally and Steve presses their ankles together under the table. “I was in the Army,” Bucky says neutrally.

“You know, I wanted to join the Army,” Simpson says. “But with my career, well, I just got too well-known. Didn’t want that to be the focus of my service.”

Steve forces himself not to make a face or scoff. Judging by what he’s seen so far, he can’t imagine anything Simpson would want more. He’s not even _that_ famous.

“I have the fortitude to do what needs to be done, you know?” Simpson goes on, oblivious to the discomfort descending on the table. “No qualms about it; no weak stomach here.”

Bucky’s pressing his lips tighter and tighter together, so Steve decides to break in. “Well, I’ve got a pretty weak stomach,” he says lightly. “I have three ulcers.”

There’s a beat of quiet long enough to make him feel like an idiot, and then Bucky cracks up laughing. Steve doesn’t care if Simpson looks confused; all he wanted was to keep Bucky out of that dark place in the back of his head, so mission accomplished.

“My dad has an ulcer,” Henry says, gamely trying to stay in the conversation.

“They’re not fun,” Steve says.

“So I couldn’t help but notice your drawings of Cap look a bit like you,” Simpson switches gears. “But, you know, bigger and stronger. Did you base him off yourself?”

Steve opens his mouth and then closes it again, unsure of what to say. Before he can decide, Bucky covers for him. “Oh, please,” Bucky says. “Captain America is patient and never loses his cool. _No way_ he’s based on Steve.”

“Wow, thanks, Buck,” Steve says dryly. Henry and Simpson both look vaguely uncomfortable, like they’re not sure if they should laugh or not, but Bucky just grins and knocks his shoulder into Steve’s.

Steve gets a salad, because he can’t eat breadsticks _and_ pasta without his sugars going crazy, and it seemed the safest option without having to grill the poor waitress on food preparation methods and ingredients. Bucky gets one, too, out of solidarity. And because, as he likes to very seriously point out to Steve whenever it comes up, he would be severely traumatized if Steve dropped dead after kissing him.

“Watching your figure?” Simpson asks, amused, and Bucky puts his hand on Steve’s thigh under the table.

“We like to eat those greens,” Bucky chirps.

They don’t have to keep up too much conversation when the food arrives, which is a blessing. Steve is terrible at small-talk, and it makes his stomach hurt.

“How long have you been together?” Henry blurts out after Steve and Bucky have a silent and automatic olive-and-crouton trade.

“Oh, uh, almost five years,” Steve says, because Bucky just shoved all the croutons in his mouth. He throws a little stink-eye at Bucky for good measure.

“I thought you’d been married almost five year,” Henry says.

“We didn’t date long before we got married,” Bucky cuts in smoothly.

“How long?” Simpson asks.

“Two weeks,” Bucky says, at the same time Steve says,

“Two months.”

Simpson and Henry both blink at them. Bucky rolls his eyes. “Seeing each other in the bathroom one time does not mean we were dating.”

“Yeah, but.” Steve shrugs. It sure sounds better than two weeks. And he’d started _thinking_ about Bucky after their bathroom encounter.

“Wow, that’s…” Henry trails off.

“Quick,” Simpson supplies.

Bucky shrugs and slings an arm across the back of Steve’s seat. “Well, when you know, you know, I guess.”

“Sure,” Simpson says. He tilts his head, assessing, and Steve fights not to squirm. It’s not like Simpson is somehow going to find out that Bucky’s mother _hired_ Steve to marry Bucky. Bucky quickly changes the subject to Simpson’s workout routine to play Cap.

“I’m gonna use the restroom,” Bucky says when they’re almost finished eating. Steve looks over at him to check if that’s code for _I’m having a bit of a freak-out_ , but he looks fine. He meets Steve’s eyes and winks at him in a way that makes Steve roll his eyes but laugh a little, so Steve figures he just actually has to pee.

“He even takes the dog into the bathroom?” Simpson asks once Bucky and Luna have gone. Steve swallows down a ball of annoyance.

“She goes where he goes,” he says. “There’s really no way of knowing when a trigger could present itself.” And, he has no plans to tell them, sometimes Bucky can’t remember where they were sitting and Luna has to guide him back to the table.

“There could be something in the bathroom?” Henry asks worriedly, glancing toward the doors.

Steve shrugs. “There doesn’t always have to be something there. Sometimes if Buck’s having a stressful day it just…happens.”

Henry looks distressed, but Simpson just raises an eyebrow. “Am I stressing him out?” He asks it in a way that suggests he would take it as a compliment, like Bucky would be stressed by how irresistible he is or something like that. Steve forces his fingers to uncurl from the fist they immediately went into.

“No,” he says shortly, then goes back to picking at the very last scraps of lettuce on his plate to have something to look at that isn’t that stupid smug face across from him.

“But really,” Simpson says. “ _Did_ you base Cap off yourself?”

Steve blows out a breath. He hates this guy. “A bit, I guess.” He doesn’t add _I wanted to draw the kind of guy who could actually protect Bucky._

“So it’s kind of weird to see me, the embodiment of all that.” Simpson is smiling in a way that Steve hates, a smile that means he knows exactly what kind of insecurities a guy like Steve has and is all too proud to be the antithesis of those.

Bucky comes back before Steve can say anything else. He takes one look at Steve’s face and his eyebrows shoot up to his hair. Luna even presses against Steve’s chair as she goes to sit under Bucky’s.

“You gotta get back to set for more scenes?” Bucky asks Simpson. Simpson checks his phone.

“Hm, yeah, I suppose so.”

He pays for their food, in a big showy way, of course, and the driver takes them back to set. Steve wonders if the guy went somewhere while they were inside or if he just sat there in the car the whole time.

The rest of their set visit doesn’t stand out much in Steve’s mind. They chat with the directors a bit, guys Steve’s met and likes, and they watch Simpson shoot another scene—shirtless, with his skin all oiled up in a way that Steve does _not_ think is necessary whatsoever. He’s all too happy to leave and head home. He’s glad Bucky had the foresight to give Henry Steve’s email address, because Steve really meant it when he told Henry he’d look at his work. Henry looks about ready to sink into the floor.

Bucky holds off an entire ten minutes after they get home before he pounces. “What happened?” He asks, filling Luna’s food dish with the super fancy dog food he insists on feeding her. It’s better than most of the food Steve ate in college. Steve makes a big show of acting like it’s ridiculous, but he’s been known to argue with the storekeeper over keeping it stocked. She’s a hard-working girl, and she deserves the good stuff.

“Nothing,” Steve says automatically. Bucky rises from where he’d been rubbing Luna’s ears and puts his hands on his hips. “I don’t like that Simpson guy,” Steve heads off the prying Bucky’s about to jump into.

“Yeah, me neither,” Bucky says. “He was all…” He makes a face. “Hoity-toity.”

Steve can’t help it—he bursts into laughter. “Hoity-toity?” He asks.

Bucky waves a hand around. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Steve admits. “And I can’t decide if that’s sadder than your word choice.”

Bucky’s face turns serious and Steve sighs a little internally. “But what happened?” Bucky presses. “While I was in the bathroom.”

Steve looks down, wiggling his toe around a hole in his sock. Bucky’s going to throw these socks away next time he gets his hands on them. He is forever exasperated by Steve’s holy socks. _Shit, Steve, socks do_ not _cost very much! Go buy a fucking four-pack for two bucks at Wal—okay, okay, not Walmart, don’t give me the Walmart lecture again; let’s just go to Target._

“He said…” Steve bites his lip. He knows Bucky loves him. He knows Bucky is _attracted_ to him. He knows Bucky doesn’t want that guy, or any other guy, for that matter. But sometimes his brain isn’t his best friend.

Bucky comes closer and wraps Steve up in his arms. “What did he say?” Bucky asks sharply.

“He just said it must be weird to see him as Captain America.”

There’s a pause, and then Bucky pushes back a little. “I don’t get it.”

Steve blows out a breath. “Because I based him off me. Off…what I wish I could be. Only sometimes!” He adds quickly, because Bucky’s face is going murderous. “And when I started drawing them, definitely.”

“So now you’re thinking I’m gonna leave you for some asshole just because he’s tall?”

“No,” Steve says. “I don’t think that. I know you won’t. It’s just—I don’t know. He got under my skin.”

“He wishes he could get under your skin,” Bucky murmurs, resting his cheek on the top of Steve’s head. Steve nudges him. They stay like that for a while, swaying a little bit. Steve’s running his hands up and down Bucky’s back and Bucky’s stroking the back of Steve’s neck.

“He’s the kind of guy I used to think you deserved,” Steve admits. “You know, like…like you’d fit together better. People see us and they don’t really think we…match.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a minute, though he does hum to let Steve know he’s thinking about what to say and not just ignoring him.

“Maybe if you looked more like that, you know, tall, and all…ripply,” Bucky starts. “I don’t know, maybe people would think we match better. And I’m not saying I’d kick you outta bed if you _were_. But I don’t care what body you have, Steve. If it was your mind and your personality in his body, I’d be into that. I just want _you_.” He lets his hands drift down and grabs a handful of Steve’s ass, making Steve yelp a little in surprise. “But I gotta say, I am sure a big fan of _this_ body.”

Steve presses his face into Bucky’s chest, throat a little tight. He’s had people give him the _I don’t care what you look like_ speech, and it always felt kind of insulting. Like they liked him _despite_ his body. Bucky’s kind of saying that, but he’s also saying he likes Steve _because_ of his body. Maybe Steve should be more reassured that Bucky’s into the whole package, and he _does_ appreciate that, but it’s nice to hear that Bucky is attracted to him, too.

“Yeah?” Steve asks, mostly just fishing now in a way he doesn’t usually.

“Mm,” Bucky agrees, leaning down and sucking at Steve’s collarbone. It _is_ one of his favorite places to kiss, and Steve supposes it wouldn’t jut out so sharply if he was all buff. “I am extremely into every inch of you,” he promises, breath hot against Steve’s neck. “Even if there aren’t very many of them.”

It takes a second for Steve’s brain to catch up, and then he snorts and shoves Bucky away. Bucky’s cracking up over his own joke, and he catches Steve’s hips and pulls him back in. Steve kisses him back happily.

They get back to their day, and Bucky keeps giving him little sporadic touches to reassure him. Steve’s glad it’s not something he has to explain to Bucky—Bucky gets it. When they’re getting ready for bed, Bucky keeps squinting at him in the mirror.

“What?” Steve finally asks around his toothbrush.

“You used to think I deserved a guy like that?” He asks. Steve’s stomach lurches a little with the reminder. Bucky huffs. “Thanks a lot,” he says sarcastically. “Geez, you musta thought I was a real asshole if you wanted to saddle me with that kinda shitstain.”

Steve’s huff of surprised laughter leaves toothpaste on the mirror, and they go through their at-least-once-a-week argument about toothpaste on the mirror, and Steve snuggles close to the back of Bucky’s neck when they get into bed, squeezing him tight and relishing the way Bucky tucks himself into Steve’s slim arms. Sure, Steve doesn’t look like Captain America, but that’s okay. He doesn’t need to.


	10. Drawn to you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is fluffy and ridiculous and starts with misunderstanding, because this verse is based on fake marriage and a little misunderstanding is the cornerstone of that.

Bucky's late coming home. It's not that unusual, but normally if he's late he tells Steve. Steve peeks out the front window, a little anxiously. They've lived here long enough that Bucky doesn't forget how to get home anymore.

It used to happen a lot when they first moved in, though Steve, of course hadn't known. Bucky hadn't said anything. Sometimes he'd spend the day hiding in the VA bathroom and then, to really top off his day, he'd have to call his parents or one of his sisters or the Commandos to tell him his own address.

Steve hates thinking about that, hates thinking about how Bucky would be wandering around while Steve was annoyed with him. Now, if Bucky forgets where they're staying on vacation, he has Luna to help him, and if she needs help, Bucky has no problem calling Steve.

But he's late, and he hasn't called, and Steve's telling himself he shouldn't worry while kind of worrying.

It’s fifteen more minutes before Bucky comes bursting in the door. Steve is absolutely not staring out the front window. Bucky’s out of breath, hair falling wildly in his eyes, and he draws up short when he sees Steve.

“Oh,” he says, gasping a little. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Steve replies cautiously. “Did you miss the train or something?”

“Um.” Bucky gulps. “Uh-huh.”

Steve blinks. Bucky’s lying. They’ve been married five years—Steve can tell. “You missed your train?” Steve repeats, giving Bucky another chance.

“Yeah,” Bucky insists. “And then, uh, we got stopped in the tunnel.”

Steve just stares at him for a minute. “And that’s why you’re late.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m late.” Bucky gives him a cheerful little smile that’s absolutely nothing like his real smile. Steve feels a little pit open up in the bottom of his stomach. Why would Bucky lie to him? They don’t lie to each other.

Bucky bustles around, putting his stuff away, feeding Luna, and Steve just sits there on the couch. His mind is spinning in the worst directions and he’s firmly telling himself to knock it off. Bucky wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. He _wouldn’t_. Bucky loves him. There’s no one else, no Toro waiting for Bucky to give his boring husband the slip.

Bucky chatters through dinner, talking about his day at work and the way one of Stark’s new interns hotwired a robot to follow Stark around and hand him things all day. The more he acts normal, the worse Steve feels. It’s five days before Steve’s birthday, and the excitement he’d felt over the annual cabin trip is waning fast.

When they slip into bed, Bucky winds his arms around Steve’s waist and nestles his nose into the back of Steve’s neck.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “You alright?”

Steve considers saying nothing, pretending everything’s fine. But it’s been five years. He and Bucky have come a long way from not talking.

“You didn’t miss your train today,” Steve says softly, not turning around to look at Bucky. He feels Bucky breathe out sharply against his neck.

“No,” Bucky admits. “I didn’t.”

Now Steve turns. “Why’d you lie to me?”

Bucky sighs. “I’m guessing you’re not going to be happy if I say I can’t tell you?” Steve glares at him. “Okay,” Bucky relents. “I was saving it for your birthday.”

“Oh,” Steve says. He pulls back a little. “You were giving me a surprise for my birthday?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “And it’s pretty good, if I do say so myself.”

“Well…” Steve draws the word out. “I guess I can wait.”

Bucky cracks up laughing. “No way,” he protests. “You felt horrible the whole time I’ve been home, huh?” He stops laughing. “What were you worried about?”

“Nothing,” Steve says.

“Steve.”

“I knew you wouldn’t do anything…I knew it wasn’t…” Steve can’t meet Bucky’s eyes.

“Steve,” Bucky whispers. He takes Steve’s chin and pulls his face up. “I love you. I would never go out looking for someone else.”

“I know,” Steve mumbles. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.”

“I’m sorry I lied.”

They cuddle up again, quiet filling their room. Steve’s eyes are slipping closed when Bucky speaks again.

“Really?” He asks, laughing. “You’re not going to make me give you your present?”

Steve cracks one eye. “Oh, okay. You want me to ask for it so you can blame _me_ for you giving up the surprise early.”

Bucky laughs again, happy and light, and Steve can’t hold back his smile. He’s a little giddy from realizing he was wrong. Not that he ever thought Bucky was lying to him for a _bad_ reason, necessarily. And not that he likes to _admit_ he was wrong.

“Okay,” Bucky says, springing out of bed and rifling around in his bag. He jumps back onto the bed and sits cross-legged, tugging at Steve’s hands to get him to sit up. “Come on, come on!” He says. Steve lets Bucky pull him upright. “Okay,” he repeats. “Now, I know it’s not great. I just hope you like it.”

“I’ll love it,” Steve assures him. Bucky gives him a dirty look and it makes Steve laugh. “Okay, no empty platitudes, got it.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and hands over…a sketchbook. Steve does his best not to wrinkle his brow. “A sketchbook? Wow, Buck…thanks.”

Bucky knocks their shoulders together. “It’s not an empty sketchbook!” He says. “Open it.”

“Well, I can’t see anything,” Steve points out. “Can you hand me my glasses?”

Bucky obliges, and leans over and turns the lamp up high, too. Luna gives an irritated little huff and Bucky coos at her apologetically. Steve opens up the book. It’s not empty. It’s almost completely full. The first few pages are…rough, to be generous. Steve thinks he might be looking at a dog. Maybe it’s Luna? He flips through the pages. They do get progressively better, he notes. Not _much_ better, but there’s improvement.

The last page is a sketch of the two of them. Bucky only has one eye and Steve’s nose is practically on top of his chin, but Steve’s throat gets tight.

“Buck, you drew these?”

Bucky runs a hand across the back of his neck. “Yeah. I mean, I’m not very good. But I’ve been taking this class at the community center.”

Steve leans forward and kisses him. “They’re great. You did an amazing job.”

Bucky laughs. “They’re terrible,” he protests. “You can see where I erased your eyes a hundred times.” There’s even a hole in the paper from where the eraser went through, but Steve isn’t going to point it out.

“I love it,” Steve promises. “These are the best drawings I’ve ever seen.”

Bucky’s blushing bright red. “Thanks.”

“Thank _you_ ,” Steve corrects, carefully putting the sketches aside so he can climb into Bucky’s lap and kiss him some more. “This is the best birthday present ever.”

“I thought maybe—I mean, if I ever get good enough, you know, not _now_ —maybe we could, you know, draw together.”

Steve shakes his head, brushing the hair off Bucky’s forehead and grinning at his ridiculous, adorable, super dorky husband who apparently thinks Steve will die if they don’t share every interest.

“Sounds perfect,” he says. It actually sort of sounds horrible, because his art is something he does by himself, usually, but he’s not going to say anything to ruin all the effort Bucky put into this.

“Really?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve says, pulling Bucky down back into bed and nestling close to him. “Completely perfect.”


	11. on the road to find out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ starspangledaf ](http://starspangledaf.tumblr.com) and I were talking about Bucky and Mark and that led to this, 5k words of newly-returned Bucky feels and Barnes family feels and Bucky and Mark bonding.

“Okay,” Becca says lowly. “Don’t make it weird, _please_?”

“When have I ever made it weird?” Bucky asks, wounded. She gives him a look and he can’t help but laugh, remembering high school and all the boys he’d glared at. “Okay, I’ll try.”

She surges forward and grabs the arm of a tall guy. They have a whispered conference for a minute and then she brings him over. Bucky draws himself up to his full height and Becca scowls, immediately catching onto what’s happening.

“Bucky,” Becca says, a warning note in her voice. “This is Mark. Mark, this is my big brother, Bucky.”

“Hi,” Mark says easily, stretching out a hand to shake. He has an alright grip, not one of those guys who tries to crush your hand and intimidate you. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Bucky says. The sound of broken glass makes him flinch a little, fresh off his second tour and jumpy as hell from it. He’s only got leave for two days, then it’s back to base and training and PT for who knows how long before they get called up again. Becca asked him to meet them at a restaurant and he hadn’t wanted to, hadn’t wanted to be around so many _people_ and no _backup_ and what if something happened while Becca was there, but he couldn’t say no, couldn’t say _I’m a little batshit right now, give me a week_.

“Waiter dropped a glass,” Mark tells him, voice low. Bucky blinks a few times, trying to pull it together. Mark smiles a little ruefully. “My dad and my uncle were both in Vietnam,” he says softly. Bucky can only nod, heart still throbbing a little too hard, and Becca’s hand on his arm helps him take a few steadying breaths.

“So, have you met the whole family already?” Bucky asks, hoping his voice sounds as light as he’s shooting for.

“Yeah,” Mark says. He and Becca exchange a look and Bucky gets a tight, wriggly feeling in his stomach.

“We’re pretty serious, Bucky,” Becca tells him.

He’s quiet for a minute, absorbing that. Becca is his little sister, two years younger than he is. They grew up together—they took _baths_ together. And he can see it on their faces; this is something, they’re _pretty serious_ , they’re probably going to—what? Get married? Bucky’s never met the guy until today. Becca went and found someone while Bucky was gone; the whole family knows this guy and he’s a complete stranger to Bucky. He’s going to be in their family, apparently, and Bucky’s never met him until they’d already decided this.

He hates the fucking desert for a lot of reasons, but this one rockets right up to the top of the list.

“Oh,” he says, throat clogging up a little. Becca’s face goes desperate and he feels bad. It’s not her fault she lived a life while he was getting sand in every crevice and trying not to shoot anything that moved. “I’m glad,” he adds, and part of him even means it. _Most_ of him, even. Becca’s smart about most things, and if she’s kept this guy around long enough to get serious he can’t be that bad.

“Mark, tell Bucky about your car,” Becca says brightly, trying to bring them back onto solid ground.

Mark tells him all about some classic car he’s restoring, and Bucky does his best to nod and smile in the right places. This is the kind of thing he used to love, back when he knew how to love things. He and his dad used to say they were going to fix up an old Corvette, but they never did and now Bucky wishes they had because he doesn’t want to anymore. He still likes working in the shop, at least, sanding down the wood and shaping it, breathing in the calming smell of birch or cedar or ash. He’s never seen a belt sander blow up with three men he’d eaten breakfast with inside.

“Anyway,” Mark says, after Bucky’s eyes have glazed over for the third time. “I’m going back to school soon for my doctorate and I’m pretty excited.”

“What’re you studying?” Bucky asks. School is something he’s always liked, actually, even when he had to pretend he didn’t because the other guys on the football team bemoaned it.

“History, sort of.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Sort of?”

“Historical manuscripts,” Becca supplies. “Mostly fourteenth century literature.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Dad must love you.”

Becca cracks up laughing. “The first time I brought him for dinner, Dad pulled him into the study and I didn’t see him again for three hours.”

Mark smiles. “I like your dad,” he says, mostly to Becca, in a fond, happy voice that makes Bucky’s insides seize up all over again. Becca’s dopey little smile back at him only solidifies the feeling he’d had earlier—this is it. Becca’s going to marry this guy, whether Bucky likes him or not.

It’s a little hard _not_ to like him though, with his curly hair and his wide smile and the excited way he talks about _Middle English_ , of all things. It doesn’t hurt that he keeps giving Becca these awed little looks from the corner of his eye, like he can’t believe she’s there with him. Becca mentioned this guy to Bucky nearly eight months ago, in a letter that got smudged with dirt and some motor oil, and if he still gives her looks like that Bucky can’t help but think he must be alright.

He is not, Bucky reflects as he watches Mark draw little patterns through his mashed potatoes, the kind of guy Bucky would think to pick for his sister. Becca was always popular, athletic, and in high school she’d dated mostly athletes. Mark is wearing a sweater vest and his neck doesn’t look hardly thick enough to hold up his head, let alone a helmet.

Then again, Bucky thinks, in high school he’d dated _women_. You can’t base everything off high school.

Bucky pays for all three of their meals, because he’s the big brother and if Mark’s getting a PhD in _fourteenth century literary manuscripts_ he can’t really be rolling in dough. Mark asks him once if he’s sure and then thanks him graciously. Bucky starts to like him more.

He’s not too surprised, three months later, when Becca calls him and tells him she’s engaged.

“Do you think you’ll be able to come home for it?” She asks fretfully.

“I’ll be there if I have to go AWOL,” he promises.

It works out alright, in the end; he gets two weeks’ leave just before they deploy again, and Becca scrambles to get everything set six months earlier than originally planned. Bucky calls and apologizes to her one night after he gets off the phone with Winifred, who could talk of nothing but table settings and _no_ , he wouldn’t be stuck sitting by Uncle Edgar, _don’t worry_.

“Bucky,” Becca says, sounding tired but heartfelt. “I would rather have you at my wedding than get married in the Taj Mahal.”

“I don’t think they do weddings there,” he jokes, because they don’t usually talk so openly about feelings. His throat’s feeling a bit tight, but he knows Becca won’t point it out.

“Anyway,” Becca says, a laugh in her voice. “Aunt Ann took over everything.”

Bucky laughs too. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Just wait ‘til _you_ get married,” Becca warns. “We’ll see who’s laughing.”

“If I ever do,” Bucky murmurs. It’s legal now, sure, but that doesn’t help Bucky _find_ someone.

“Shut up,” Becca scolds. “You’re gonna find the best guy. Well, second best,” she amends, and she sounds so happy Bucky lets it drop.

He shows up to the wedding, puts on the tux Ann had tailored for him—Becca had sniffed around about him wearing his dress blues and he’d shot it down immediately—and goes to find his place. He finds Mark in the bathroom of the church, combing his hair. Bucky raises his eyebrows.

“Ann didn’t set up a designated room for you?” He asks.

“Oh, she did,” Mark assures him, and he gallantly doesn’t roll his eyes. Bucky’s glad. She’s a pain sometimes, but she’s his aunt, and he’d be obligated to have words if Mark didn’t seem grateful for the unsought help. “I just felt more comfortable in a regular bathroom.”

Bucky grins at that. He understands the feeling. “Having any second thoughts?” He asks.

“No way,” Mark says right away. And sure, Bucky knows the guy can’t really say anything else—this is Bucky’s sister, after all—but he seems pretty damn sincere. His smile takes up his whole face. “This is the best day of my life.” He even laughs a little, giddy, and it makes Bucky grin, too, glad that Mark is a good guy. It also makes his stomach hurt a little. He can’t imagine anyone being that happy to be with him.

The door bangs open and an older man pokes his head in. “There you are!” He says. “You weren’t in that fancy dressing room and the wedding lady started losing her shit. Thought you were bailing.”

“Dad, this is Becca’s big brother, Bucky,” Mark says, not phased in the least that Ann apparently thought he was skipping out.

“Army, right?” Mark’s dad asks, and Bucky tries not to squirm.

“Yes, sir.” He almost adds that Mark told him he served, too, but he stops himself. He wouldn’t really want anyone bringing that up the first time he meets them, and he even _volunteered_ for his war.

“The only _real_ men,” Mark’s dad says approvingly. Mark’s mouth twists for a second, and Bucky finds himself almost glaring. He’d _better_ not find out that Mark’s dad gives him shit for not going into the Army. He’d just better not.

“Well, anyway,” Mark says. “I’d better get back there before someone tells Becca I left.”

“Wouldn’t want her to cry and ruin her makeup,” his father agrees.

Mark barks out a laugh. “Oh, please,” he says. “I’m more worried about her killing me.”

His dad grins at that. “She sure is a good one,” he says, and Bucky’s feelings toward him ease just a bit.

Bucky’s uncle Roger is officiating the wedding. He’s one of Bucky’s favorite uncles, even if he is a priest and mostly just pretends Bucky isn’t gay. He used to ask about Bucky’s dating life all the time, but now he just politely asks about his platoon and when he plans to leave the Army to go to college.

Roger gives one of his flowery speeches, all about love and happiness and taking care of each other. It’s almost the same speech Bucky’s heard at about every wedding Roger’s officiated, just a name change to make it for Becca. Becca doesn’t seem to mind. Her eyes are shining as she smiles at Mark and he smiles back at her. It almost gives Bucky heartburn.

Winifred’s bawling beside him, and he tries not to laugh at her too hard. He cries pretty easily, too, though he’s gotten better at hiding it. He puts his arm around his mother.

“Hey, Ma, Mark’s family’s gonna think you hate him or something.”

George, on Winifred’s other side, shakes his head. “She already cried with Mark’s grandma _and_ his mom,” he confides. “They all blubbered.” If his own eyes had been wet as he walked his daughter down the aisle, well, he’ll claim allergies.

There’s dinner, and cake, and dancing, and even though half these people are his family Bucky starts to feel a little tired, a bit antsy. There are people at his back and he keeps reminding himself that it’s fine. Dugan’s over by the drink table and Gabe and Dernier are laughing with Bucky’s dad. He can’t see where Morita is but he’d bet Monty set him up for Ann to capture him and do something about that awful neon tie he showed up wearing.

Bucky dances with Beth, because she hangs on his arm and begs, and then he has to dance with Bailey, to keep it fair, and he can’t ignore the sad little looks Winifred is sending him and waltzes around with her fast enough to leave her breathlessly laughing until the song changes.

Mark and Becca are dancing, arms tight around each other, and Bucky hates to interrupt but he’s got an early flight in the morning and needs to get to bed soon. He taps Mark on the shoulder. “May I?” He asks, gesturing at Becca.

Mark smiles softly. “Of course.” He bows theatrically over Becca’s hand and makes her laugh.

Becca pinches Bucky’s elbow, under his suit jacket, and makes him jump a little. It was a trick she’d picked up when Bucky was in middle school and his teenage hormones had made him miserable to be around. “Ow,” he complains. “What was that for?”

“Nothing,” she says with a shrug. “You like him, don’t you?”

Bucky glances over at where Mark is dancing with Beth, letting her stand on his feet even though she’s starting high school in the fall and definitely too old for that, and he laughs a little. “Yeah,” he promises. “I like him, Becks. You did a good job.”

She’s pleased by that, and he’s happy to make her happy, especially today. He gets back to the desert, a week later, and tries to hold onto that good feeling. Becca mails him some of the pictures they’d taken at the wedding, and he tapes up a family picture—Mark included—beside his bunk.

It doesn’t stop him from forgetting who Mark is.

His mother is the first to come back to him, her face first and the feeling of safety, and then he thinks _Ma_ and he cries out. “It’s alright,” someone soothes, but it doesn’t help because he doesn’t know where the _fuck_ he is or _who_ the fuck he is, let alone who this person at his bedside is. He’s not strapped down, at least, which seems promising, but he still thrashes and cries and tries to get away, so he ends up with a needle in his arm either way.

But when he wakes up next, he still remembers that he has a mother, and she has hair that’s starting to go gray that she dyes back to brown and she cries at the drop of a hat and bakes his favorite chocolate cookies every time he comes home. He cries and cries because he wants her—can’t remember her name, isn’t even sure she’s still alive, but he wants her to stroke his hair off his forehead and press a cool rag to his face.

Then he sees her pressing a kiss to the bent head of a man with thinning hair and glasses, a cleft in his chin, and he thinks, _Dad_ , thinks of throwing the ball around in the backyard all summer and library books about wrestling after he came home one day having signed up. He wants a steady voice reading him a bedtime story, frowning a little and murmuring, “Now, that’s no way to treat a woman, okay? This book is archaic and I don’t want you getting any ideas.”

He feels someone’s small hand taking his and pictures three girls, matching hair in ribbons to go with their matching Easter dresses before their mom drags them all to church, and he’s crying so hard he can’t breathe because in a rush his own name comes back to him, first just a baby girl grinning toothless and saying _Buh-bee!_ and then his mother whispering _James_ and an older girl saying, _My big brother, Bucky_. Someone at some point threatened, _Bucky’s gonna skin you alive!_ It makes his stomach churn.

He screams through the memories, no idea what’s real and what’s not, and then they hold up the computer and show him those five faces and he screams some more because they’re _talking_ , these people he’s not sure about, they’re crying like he’s some kind of miracle and he doesn’t know what’s happening. There’s some guy in the corner, curly hair and sad eyes, and he’s holding a baby boy and he thinks _there weren’t any men or baby boys_ and he ignores them all because this is a trick.

Bucky comes home on a Tuesday. The house looks the same, he thinks, but he can’t really be sure. Nothing jolts at him, at least. His little sister—Beth, she’s the youngest and he has a stack of letters from her that spans four _years_ —has to lead him to his room, because he doesn’t remember which one is his.

Her lower lip quivers just a bit before she clenches her jaw and smiles at him. “Are you hungry?” She asks.

He thinks of rotting meat, eating with his hands when he couldn’t stand not to anymore, and his stomach clenches horribly. He shakes his head, swallowing down against the nausea.

“Okay, well…” She bites her lip and he feels bad, distantly, because he can tell he’s making her uncomfortable. Scaring her, maybe. “Aunt Kay wants to come over later. When you’re ready.”

He doesn’t know who Aunt Kay is. He’s not sure it matters. He shrugs, and then, because her face falls and her shoulders slump a little, he opens his mouth. “Okay,” he forces out. He’d meant to say _I don’t know when that’ll be_. He’d meant to say _thank you_. He’d meant to say a lot of things. But somehow between his brain and his mouth everything keeps getting lost. At least this time he spoke an actual word, not gibberish like at the hospital.

She beams at him like he’s fucking Einstein and he forces himself not to let it rankle. She’s sixteen years old and she’s a naturally upbeat person. He’ll take every smile she gives him.

It’s later that night when the curly-haired man—Mark—comes back. Bucky can’t remember who he is. He’s familiar, at least, not that strange unknown person in the corner of the screen anymore, and Bucky tries to fake for a while like he knows why this man carrying a baby on his hip is in the dining room eating dinner with their family.

And then he hands the baby off to Becca, whose belly is round and large, and Bucky shudders and the act falls off. Everyone goes tense, but the curly-haired man just smiles at Bucky and swallows his potatoes.

“Mark,” the man says, jutting his thumb at himself. “Becca’s husband.” He points at the little boy banging a spoon against the table, making Bucky’s head ache. “Jamie. Your nephew.”

Becca points down at her stomach. “Undetermined niece or nephew, undetermined name.”

Bucky takes three swallows of water. “Okay,” he says. It’s the easiest word. His voice is shaking. “Hi,” he manages to add.

His mother’s eyes are full of tears and he drops his eyes to his plate, untouched food in mounds staring back at him. A hand is touching his hair—no, _no_ , they’re going to pull his head back, they’re going to stab the needles in again—he’s against the wall, there are shards of broken plate in his hand, and the baby— _your nephew_ , but he’s already forgotten the boy’s name—is wailing and everyone is shouting and he closes his eyes tight.

“Okay,” George says, voice soothing, and Bucky opens his eyes to see his father herding everyone out of the kitchen. “Give James some space.”

He wishes they’d all agree on a name for him, because it’s jarring every time someone says Bucky when he’s just reminded himself his name is James, and vice versa, but he couldn’t even find the words to say _where’s the bathroom_ and had to go wandering earlier, so he doubts that’s happening.

He’s alone in the kitchen now, breathing deep. He forces his hand to unclench, won’t let himself think about the other one that isn’t there anymore, and he finds he’s cut himself. The blood makes his heart climb into his throat and he chokes down a sob.

“Here.” Mark is suddenly back, and Bucky tries not to jump. Mark holds up both hands—safe. “Let’s wash off your hand. I’ll grab a Band-Aid.”

He opens a cabinet, and Bucky thinks _medicine_ , remembers cherry cough syrup in the winter. Mark comes back with a few bandages and some antiseptic. The smell isn’t strong, at least. Mark helps him wash the blood from his hand, because he doesn’t have another one to scrub with, and cleans him up.

“How you doing?” Mark asks. It’s the worst question Bucky has ever word, at the worst time. How’s he doing? He just had some kind of mental break and probably tried to kill his mother—because it was her, of course, trying to comfort him, stroking his hair like he’d remembered and longed for. Bucky has to swallow a time or two before he can think about talking. He forces his mouth open, hard when it had been clenched closed around a mouth guard and his own screams for so long.

He wants to say _I’m terrible_ , _kill me, I can’t do this_. He wants to tell Mark to shove his questions up his ass. He wants to thank him for helping. He moves his tongue uselessly around in his mouth for a minute, no sounds coming out.

“Okay,” he finally says.

 

Bucky has a new metal arm and he’s gone two days without making his mother cry. That he’s seen, anyway. It’s the middle of the night and the moon is shining off his new fingers and the room is pressing in, choking him. Even with the blinds open and the moon out, it’s too dark. He can’t breathe.

George doesn’t sleep outside Bucky’s door anymore. It had been more comforting than he’d ever find the words to say, screaming himself awake and opening his eyes to seeing his father, laid out in the doorway so anyone who wanted to get into Bucky’s room would have to go through him first.

But it had left him feeling guilty, too, because George wasn’t getting any younger and the ground wasn’t comfortable. So Bucky had told him he was alright, that he could sleep now and George could go back to his bed and to Winifred. He doesn’t scream himself awake anymore. Gasps, sure, and sits upright with his heart pounding so hard he thinks it’ll burst, but that’s quiet enough not to wake anyone.

So now here he is, going to choke to death on the darkness, and he gropes blindly and finds his phone. The light helps, a little, but it’s still just one beam. He opens up _Words with Friends_ , a game he detests because he loses every time but his speech therapist said might help, and plays a word in a game with Mark.

His phone buzzes. _Why are you awake_?

It takes him painstaking minutes to type out, _Why are you?_ He knows he could use just the letters, not the whole words, and knows a lot of people text that way. But he never has, and he makes himself do the whole thing, capital letters and punctuation and all.

_Becca snores so bad when she’s pregnant_ , Mark reveals. Bucky laughs a little, because Becca snores when she’s not pregnant, he thinks. _Even worse than when she’s not,_ Mark adds, and Bucky grins because he was right.

_I used to throw pillows at her_ , he reveals. It takes five full minutes to form the words.

_Not really an option for me_ , Mark says. _Want to go for a drive?_

Bucky chews his lip. He should try to sleep. But he knows he won’t be able to. Why bother lying around in bed? _Okay_.

Bucky sits on the front steps to wait, idly rubbing his fingers across the stone. When Mark pulls up to the curb, Bucky stands up. A little shower of concrete surprises him, and he looks down to see his metal fingers had left gouges in the step. He wants to scream.

He hesitates before getting in the car. What if Mark wants to _talk_? Bucky can’t talk. Bucky can’t talk on a _good_ day, let alone right now after nightmares and his robot hand ruining another thing his parents worked hard for. But Mark’s right there waiting, and it would be weird if Bucky just waved him away after he drove all the way out here.

“Hi,” he forces himself to say when he gets in the car.

“Hey,” Mark answers. The radio is on, playing something quiet and slow with no words—violins and pianos only—and neither of them say another word. It’s nice, to drive around and look at the streetlights glowing yellow in the darkness, the soothing music, his head against the seat rest. Mark doesn’t even look over at him, which is an intense relief.

After about an hour, Mark drops him back off at home. “See ya,” he says easily. Bucky feels tears prick his eyes a little, to his horror. Mark’s just acting like it’s no big deal. Like Bucky isn’t crazy.

Bucky clenches his teeth hard for a second, forces his lips and tongue and throat into the right shapes. “Thank you,” he grits out. Mark smiles at him.

“Anytime,” he says softly, and it feels like he actually means it.

It’s past 2 am when Bucky slips back inside, but one of the kitchen lights is on. He hopes no one checked on him and found his bed empty. He doesn’t want them to worry. He sticks his head in cautiously. It’s Bailey—middle sister, doesn’t talk as much as the other two but has a tendency to cut deep with a few words—with a cup of cocoa, sitting up at the bar in the kitchen.

“Hi,” he says. “You’re awake?” He berates himself. That’s a stupid question. He can see she’s awake. He’d meant to ask _why_.

She shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep,” she says. “You?”

He nods. “Uh-huh.” He sits down on the stool beside her, his left hand making a _click_ against the marble countertop. “Too dark?” He asks.

“Hm?” She looks over at him, brow wrinkled, and he winces a little.

“Um.” He swallows. “I—the dark. It’s hard to sleep.” He casts around for the right word and ends up just putting his hands against his chest. “Heavy.”

She cocks her head to the side. “The dark feels heavy?” She clarifies. He nods. He wants to go back to bed. His eyes are burning. He feels like a fucking child. No one can understand him. It would be better if he at least knew a different language, like he could pretend English had been superseded by something else, but instead he just has nothing. Blankness in his head when he tries to find words.

“Sounds scary,” she says softly. He just shrugs. They sit in silence for a second. She slides her mug over to him. “Want some?”

Food is still tough. He eats truckloads of pasta salad Kay makes for him, because it looks nothing like he’d been forced to eat and it can slide down his throat without him having to chew. He can drink though. He takes a sip and nods his thanks, passing it back to her. They finish off the mug, sliding it back and forth across the marble and even getting silly a few times, pushing hard to see if the other will still catch it. He’d feel bad if they broke the mug—another dish he’d ruin—but they keep it easy.

“I’m going back to bed,” Bailey says, standing up and rinsing the mug. “Are you?”

Bucky shrugs. “Sure.”

He follows her down the hall and pretends he doesn’t have to hesitate. He knows it’s either the door on the right or the left, but he can’t remember for sure which one it is. She opens the door on the right and it’s the bathroom, so he knows his room is the one on the left.

“Night, Bucky,” she whispers as he closes the door. He nods. Another word isn’t coming tonight, not even a simple one she just said.

He stares at the ceiling for hours until he hears his parents moving around in the kitchen. He waits another twenty minutes, and then he can get up without them casting worried glances at him. Two days later a nightlight appears in his room, and he gives Bailey a smile but never manages to figure out what to say.

 

It becomes a bit of a tradition, going on drives in the middle of the night. Bucky even gets to the point where he can ask, can text _Drive?_ to Mark and Mark will show up. They drive in silence and Bucky can feel his heart rate slowing with the lights and quiet and the rushing sound of cars on the freeway.

“Does Becca wonder?” Bucky asks one night. They’ve been doing this at least once a week for nearly a month now. Earlier today his speech therapist had praised his verbal communication improvement. It felt like a small victory.

“She knows,” Mark says.

“She mad?” Bucky asks, a little worried. Maybe mad isn’t the word he meant. Upset? Jealous? Mark smiles a little.

“No,” he promises. “She’s glad.”

Still, the baby’s coming soon—Bucky still won’t hold the other one, Jamie, _named_ for him, for Christ’s sake, he could crush the kid and not even notice—and he feels guilty. Mark should be home. He should be sleeping.

It isn’t until two months later, after the baby’s born and Mark calls him up one night, asks if he wants to go for a drive. Bucky says yes, even with guilt gnawing away at him. Mark has circles under his eyes to rival Bucky’s. He looks exhausted. Bucky would offer to drive if that weren’t the worst fucking idea in history.

“Sorry,” Bucky murmurs. “You’re so tired.”

Mark glances over at him. They’ve started talking a bit more, now that Bucky doesn’t feel so stupid all the time, now that his words connect better now. They still spend the majority of time in silence, which is nice, but it’s also nice to talk sometimes.

“So are you,” Mark points out. “This helps. It helps you, too, right?”

Bucky can’t pretend it doesn’t. “Yeah,” he says. “But…but you should be home. Sleeping. Or—with the kids. With your family.”

Mark grins over at him, hair getting long because he’s been too busy to cut it. “Bucky,” he says. “You _are_ family. You’re my brother, right?”

It steals Bucky’s breath away a little. He grew up with his three sisters, with teammates and friends all around him. He’d always wondered what it would be like to have a brother, though. He got five of them, the Commandos, always there to have his back when he needs them, but this is different. There’s a paper somewhere that _binds_ Mark to him as a brother.

It’s a little weird. Bucky thinks of a brother and thinks about bleeding together, thinks about someone having his back when he’s screaming and pissing his pants and thinks of shooting down dead anyone who goes near his brother.

But that’s sort of this, isn’t it? In a different way.

He manages a little smile back. “Yeah,” he agrees. Mark’s grin gets wider, making him younger, maybe that middle school kid who first read _The Canterbury Tales_ and wanted to keep reading, and Bucky almost wants to laugh. “You’re my brother.”


	12. How much wood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was just supposed to be 100% silly, cutesy fluff but it got a little angsty. Somehow that seems to happen a lot with these two.

Steve wakes up when he feels Bucky leaving his arms. He makes a muffled noise of protest and reaches for Bucky without opening his eyes. Bucky laughs at him and obligingly comes back within reach.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, giving Steve a morning-breath kiss.

“Come back to bed,” Steve demands. Bucky laughs again. He’s so perky.

“I gotta get up,” Bucky tells him. “Promised my dad I’d go over to the shop since he and Ma are at the cabin.”

“Right _now_?” Steve whines. He’s feeling a little extra clingy. He just got home after three days in Boston for a con and now Bucky’s trying to _escape_ before he’s fully awake. It isn’t _fair_.

Bucky runs his fingers through Steve’s hair. “I gotta get to my run and get over there,” he says apologetically. “I’ve got a dining room set to finish sanding before my cousin comes with the truck to take it to the Buffalo store.”

“Finish sanding a dining room set?” Steve asks. He props himself up on his elbow. “How long’s that gonna take?”

“Most of the day.” Bucky winces. “Sorry. Bad timing.”

Steve huffs a sigh and flops back down onto the bed. “I’m supposed to go _another_ day without you?” He’s mostly just being overdramatic. Of course he doesn’t begrudge Bucky helping his dad out.

Not too much, anyway.

Bucky smirks. “I know,” he says. “It’s a real hardship.”

“You’re a real hardship,” Steve mutters.

“Sorry, not after last night,” Bucky shoots back blithely, making Steve snort. Bucky leans down and gives Steve some more kisses. It placates him a bit. “How ‘bout I come home for lunch?” Bucky murmurs into Steve’s mouth.

“But doesn’t that mean you won’t finish until even later?”

Bucky shrugs. “Yeah. But it won’t be as long without seeing you.”

Steve can’t help the little grin those words bring up. “You’ll miss my face by lunchtime, huh?”’

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t the one crying about being gone.”

“I wasn’t crying,” Steve protests, grabbing at Bucky’s arm when he tries to pull back. “I was just pouting.”

“Oh, so sorry.” Bucky bends over to rest his forehead against Steve’s. “Really, though. I gotta go.”

“Fine, fine,” Steve grumbles, stretching up for one last kiss. “But if I get hard I’m jerking off without you.”

Bucky laughs harder than Steve appreciates, which is rude. Bucky dresses for his run and he and Luna head out. Steve can’t get back to sleep, but he doesn’t bother getting out of bed. He’s just lying there, thinking about how he needs to unpack but maybe if he puts it off long enough Bucky will get annoyed enough to do it himself. After about twenty minutes, Steve sits up. He could go with Bucky. He’s been to the shop a few times, and to the different warehouses and stores in the Barnes Family Furniture chain.

He gets up and gets going with his meds and brushing his teeth. He can bring a sketchbook and draw. He can draw Bucky doing his…wood thing. _Carpentry_ , that’s the word. Steve’s never opposed to drawing Bucky working with his hands.

“Wow, look at you, dressed and everything,” Bucky says when he gets back and sees Steve in the living room. Steve glares at him a little, but he knows Bucky’s just teasing.

“I thought I’d go with you,” Steve says.

“To the shop?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says. Then he has a realization. “I mean…unless you don’t want me to come. If you want some alone time or whatever.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, a little smile playing at his lips, and he leans over the back of the couch to kiss Steve upside-down. “I never want alone time from you.” It’s a blatant lie, because even though they love each other they still manage to _drive each other up the wall_ pretty frequently, but Steve appreciates the sentiment.

“Okay,” Steve says. “Cool. Go take a shower.” He’s nice enough not to point out that Bucky’s _dripping_ on him. Steve loves every part of Bucky, but that’s still nasty.

“You don’t want to join me, huh?” Bucky asks. He’s definitely rubbing his gross, sweaty face against Steve’s on purpose as a ploy to get him into the shower. Steve snorts.

“Buck, you know I won’t be able to do anything. Last night was a miracle.”

“Absence makes the dick grow harder,” Bucky says sagely, making them both crack up. He sobers quickly. “But you know I don’t care about that. I doubt I’ll be up for anything, either. I just like having you in there with me.”

“Well, you make a compelling argument,” Steve relents, pulling his shirt over his head. Bucky grins and shoves his sweaty hair against Steve’s neck and Steve might let out a little shriek that makes Luna _yip_ worriedly.

“Sorry,” Steve tells her. “It’s his fault.” He swears she’s pursing her lips at him. He doesn’t know if dogs can do that, but _she_ is.

They shower and take twice as long as necessary to get dressed because they keep stopping to kiss and also to snap towels at each other. Bucky had to teach Steve how to really crack the towel right, because apparently snapping towels is a skill high school athletes pick up after practice and Steve’s a respectable guy who never did that.

They finally get to the shop. It’s dark and empty and full of half-finished tables and chairs. Steve can almost kind of recognize Bucky’s work, as opposed to anyone else’s. Bucky tends to round out the edges of his pieces more than anyone else does, and Steve sort of embarrasses himself by thinking about what a metaphor that is for their relationship.

It’s summertime and the shop is hot before Bucky clicks on the air conditioner. He’d considered taking summer classes, since the internship he’s doing with Stark is only a few hours a day, but Steve had encouraged him not to, so he’s been working at the store more. Bucky wants to hurry and finish his degree, but Steve thinks he needs a break. And, Steve thinks kind of smugly, it’s obviously been pretty good for Bucky. He’s sleeping better and isn’t so stressed out all the time.

“Okay,” Bucky says. “Safety goggles.”

“I’m not doing anything, though,” Steve points out. Bucky gives him a look.

“Rules, Steve. Safety goggles.”

Steve puts them on, even though he looks ridiculous. Bucky, of course, makes the safety goggles look chic and sexy. It’s so unfair.

“Let’s take a picture,” Bucky says. He laughs at Steve’s groan. “Come on, we’re cute.”

“You’re so obsessed with taking pictures of me,” Steve grouses. Then he feels like an asshole, because Bucky _is_ obsessed with taking pictures. He regularly fills his phone’s memory with pictures of the people he loves, because he’s terrified of forgetting again.

“Yep,” Bucky agrees. Steve puts his foot in his mouth too often for either of them to even stop and acknowledge it anymore. They take their picture—and then Steve gets one of Bucky and Luna because even _Luna_ has to wear safety goggles and it’s adorable—and then they get to their respective work. Steve’s sure Bucky sent the picture to Winifred. She’ll probably print it out and frame it.

The sander Bucky’s applying to the giant dining room table he’s working on is harsh and loud, but after a while Steve gets used to it and can tune it out. He’s got a few panels to work on before he can get to drawing Bucky.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when the sander clicks off. His ears ring a little in the silence. He blinks up at Bucky, who’s suddenly right up close to him, peeking at his sketchbook upside-down.

“Whatcha drawing?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You know what I’m drawing.”

“Well, yeah,” Bucky admits. “You at a stopping point?”

Steve shrugs. “Can be. Why? You done already?”

“No, and we can’t leave until Josh gets here for the stuff anyway. I just thought…” He shrugs back. “Wanna try cutting some wood?”

Steve sits back in his chair. “Is that a euphemism?” He’s not opposed, really, but he is a little surprised. Bucky’s sex drive usually isn’t much higher than Steve’s—in fact, Steve’s usually more _interested_ in sex than Bucky is, but Steve’s body doesn’t cooperate as much.

Bucky stares for a second, forehead crinkled up in confusion, and then he laughs, surprised. “No! Get your mind out of the gutter, Christ. I got some ash left over and just thought you might want to give it a try. You could make a little box or something.”

Steve considers this for a second. He never took woodshop in high school, his schedule too full of art electives to have room even if he’d been interested, which he honestly hadn’t been. But it’s just another medium of art, really, and it could be fun. Most everything’s fun with Bucky.

“Alright,” Steve says, closing his sketchbook. “Let’s do it.”

Bucky leads him over to the saw and spends a solid ten minutes lecturing Steve about safety. People look at Bucky in his dark colors and long hair and metal arm and think he’s some kind of dangerous bad boy, which is ridiculous. Bucky is a nerdy _square_ who loves rules.

“Okay,” Bucky finally says. “Ready?”

“Sure,” Steve confirms, even though he doesn’t really know what he’s doing. Push the block of wood through the saw. Keep it in a straight line. It doesn’t sound too hard.

Bucky wraps his arms around Steve from behind to guide his movements, and Steve snorts. He turns his head to squint over at Bucky, who’s resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder.

“This is the real reason you wanted to do this, isn’t it?”

“Kinda,” Bucky admits with a grin. “I used to bring my dates here all the time in high school.”

Steve gasps, mock offended. “We have been married for two _years_ and this is the first time I’m getting the moves?”

Bucky puckers his lips out and kisses Steve’s cheek. “Well, you know, why use my best moves when I already got you on the line? And honestly, I _tried_ putting moves on you and you didn’t even notice.”

Steve can’t stop himself from laughing at that. “So why are you doing it now?”

“Well, you’re here anyway. Might as well.”

“And how often did this move work and get you lucky?”

Bucky scoffs. “Please, Steve. Every time. But it wasn’t the moves. It was _me_.”

“Oh my God,” Steve laughs. “You’re so cocky.”

“Can I help it if I’m irresistible?”

“Weren’t all your dates in high school girls?” Steve asks. “So was getting lucky when they _did_ want to have sex with you or when they didn’t?”

That makes Bucky laugh out loud and pinch Steve’s hip a little. “Smartass.”

“Yep.”

“Okay, I’m turning on the saw now,” Bucky warns him. “It’ll be loud.”

“I’m ready.”

The saw _is_ loud. Steve kind of wishes he’d turned off his hearing aid. Bucky’s hands are sure against Steve’s arms as he pushes Steve in the right direction. Steve can see the appeal to this, even though he already gets Bucky all the time anyway.

Steve didn’t account for the sawdust that would kick up in the air. It’s not a terrible amount, but it catches him by surprise. And, of course, Steve’s lungs don’t like surprises. He coughs.

And then he keeps coughing.

Bucky’s hands disappear and Steve knows he’s going to turn off the saw, but Steve shakes his head. “I’m fine!” He insists, even though his voice is still choked up. Bucky looks unsure, but he knows how annoyed Steve gets about being coddled, so he doesn’t turn it off. He keeps his hands close to the off switch, though, instead of bringing them back to rest on Steve’s arms. It irritates Steve. They’d been having a good time.

He shoves the block of wood harder, going faster. He hears Bucky say something, but he can’t make out the words, so he turns his head to read Bucky’s lips.

“What?”

“Steve!” Bucky yells. He flips the off switch and grabs the back of Steve’s shirt, yanking him back. Steve glances down and sees his fingers about an inch from the blade.

“Oh,” Steve says. Bucky’s breathing way too hard, and Luna’s up from her spot on the ground and nosing at his legs.

“Fuck,” Bucky says harshly. “You almost cut your damn fingers off.”

“Sorry,” Steve says sheepishly. Bucky’s freaking out. He turns his face away from Steve, which is a little silly considering how often Steve’s seen him break down. Still, Steve’s not going to criticize him about it. Bucky crouches down to let Luna press closer to him, licking his face and whuffing out reassuring breaths.

“I’m sorry, Buck,” Steve says. He keeps his voice low and soothing. He knows better than to try touching Bucky just yet, especially if Bucky’s not looking at him. Bucky accepts Steve comforting him more than pretty much anyone else when he’s having a moment, but that doesn’t mean he can take unexpected touching.

“Okay,” Bucky says shakily. “I’m not mad at you, I’m just—shit. I thought you were gonna—God.”

“I’m fine,” Steve promises.

“Okay.”

Steve’s not actually very fine. He feels like shit for scaring Bucky. Bucky takes another deep breath and rubs Luna’s ears.

“Thanks, girl,” he murmurs to her. Then he stands up. He pushes his shoulders back and tries to put on his brave face. Why he’s bothering with Steve is a mystery.

“Okay,” he says. His right hand is shaking. His left, of course, isn’t, and then Steve feels even _worse_ because it was his fingers near a goddamn saw and that can’t possibly be easy for Bucky to think about. Steve can’t believe Bucky works with the saw at all.

“Maybe we should take a break,” Steve suggests, trying to be diplomatic but definitely failing. Diplomatic’s not a word anyone’s ever used to describe Steve.

“We don’t have time,” Bucky says. Now he just sounds tired—the adrenaline crash. Steve feels worse. “Josh’s coming to get the dining room set.”

“Well…what’s left to do?” Steve asks. “I can help.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “You can use the sandpaper on the chair legs,” he finally says. It’s definitely a low-stress job—as in, Bucky won’t have to stress about Steve screwing up.

“I can do that,” Steve says cheerfully. Bucky manages a little smile that does nothing to ease the pit in Steve’s stomach. It must show on his face, because Bucky’s smile turns wry.

“I’m okay,” he echoes Steve’s words back at him. “Sorry you almost got hurt and I’m the one having a panic attack.”

Steve gets into Bucky’s space slowly, testing it out to see if Bucky’s okay with it. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s waist.

“You always worry about other people more than yourself,” Steve murmurs, going to his tiptoes to press a kiss to Bucky’s lips. “It’s one of the things I love about you.” Saying that still makes him blush a little, even after being together for a year and a half.

“Oh, really?” Bucky asks. “I seem to remember someone chewing me out two weeks ago for caring about other people more than myself. Do you remember who it was?”

“Probably Sam,” Steve says, and Bucky rewards him with a little huff of laughter. He nuzzles his nose against Steve’s. He’s always extra clingy once he gets over his embarrassment after a bad moment. He’s recovering pretty quickly, though, which is a good sign.

“Got scared,” Bucky admits. He can’t meet Steve’s eyes, which is normal when he’s talking about a freak out. “Saw your fingers going toward the saw, and…” He swallows hard. “Well, you know.” He waves his metal hand.

“Yeah, I know,” Steve says quietly, resting his head against Bucky’s chest. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

“It’s not your fault,” Bucky assures him. “Well, me freaking out isn’t your fault. Almost getting your fingers chopped off _is_ your fault. What was rule number three, Steve?”

“Um…” Steve doesn’t remember the rules being numbered.

“Always keep your eyes on the saw!” Bucky blows out a frustrated breath. “I have to write this down in the accident log.”

Steve tips his head back to give Bucky an incredulous look. “You have to write down an _almost_ accident in the accident log?”

“Yes,” Bucky says firmly. “It’s—”

“The rules,” Steve finishes. “You’re so good at rules.”

“And you’re _so bad_ at them.”

Steve rubs his hand across Bucky’s back. “You’re okay though?” Steve checks. “No flashbacks or anything?”

Bucky shrugs. “Not right now.” The guilt comes back in full force. Bucky’s probably going to have bad nightmares tonight. Steve hates that it’s his fault.

“Come on,” Steve says, patting Bucky on the ass comfortingly. “Let’s get back to work.”

Steve does a master job with the sandpaper across the designs Bucky put into the chair legs, and Bucky fights himself through finishing the sanding on the tabletop. Steve can see him struggling with it. His hand is still shaking, and he’s biting his lips raw.

But he’s also shooting furtive looks at Steve over his shoulder, so Steve knows he doesn’t want this mentioned. Steve keeps his head down and lets the guilt eat away from him. They’ve been working on doing better at this—Steve trying to be more aware of Bucky’s triggers, Bucky trying to actually speak up about his triggers, and both of them trying to apologize and put things behind them quickly—but it’s tough when he can see little shivers running down Bucky’s spine. Luna agrees with him, because she’s whining from her spot a foot behind Bucky. She’s not allowed to get too close to the equipment, and she must think Bucky’s okay enough not to break that rule, but she’s clearly not happy about it.

Steve’s almost jealous that Bucky will take Luna’s worry but not his. Then he feels bad for being jealous of a dog, especially a dog who does so much to take care of Bucky.

Josh shows up and immediately picks up on Bucky’s mood. Steve’s met him a few times, and he’s usually a pretty easygoing guy—surprising, since he’s Edgar’s son. He doesn’t hang around and chitchat though; just loads up quickly and then claps a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Bucky,” he says. “Did you have a stain in mind?”

They talk stains and conditioners and finishes and Steve’s mind drifts a bit. He’s trying to think of a good way to make this up to Bucky. Josh shakes Steve’s hand before he leaves, which is nice, and then it’s just Steve and Bucky and Luna.

“Let’s go home,” Bucky says with a little sigh.

Steve goes over to the table he’d been drawing at earlier and picks up his sketchbook. He can’t find his pencil, though, until he sees that it rolled under the table. He crawls down to get it and ends up smacking his head on the table as he gets up.

“Ow!” He howls.

“Steve,” Bucky groans. “Now I gotta write that in the accident log, too.”

“What, seriously?” Steve asks, too busy staring at Bucky to notice the chair in his way. He trips over it.

“Oh my God,” Bucky says. And then he’s _laughing_. It’s probably the most beautiful sound in the world just then. “Steve, you’re a disaster.” He manages to make it sound kind of like a declaration of love.

“You don’t really have to write that in the accident log, do you?” Steve asks.

“Any accidents in the shop go in the accident log,” Bucky reports. Steve shakes his head, but Bucky’s still snorting over how clumsy Steve is, so Steve’s not too upset. They even manage a pretty good night once they get home, playing Battleship and eating some weird low-carb lasagna Bucky experimented with and working their way through their Netflix queue.

They cuddle up close in bed, and Steve runs his hands all along Bucky’s arms. “The day wasn’t completely horrible, right?” He checks.

Bucky gives him one of those slow, beautiful smiles that make Steve’s chest hurt a little bit. “No,” Bucky says, leaning in for an unhurried kiss. “Not completely horrible at all.”

  


Two days later, George calls and Bucky puts it on speaker.

“Three accidents?” George asks incredulously. “What was that boy _doing_ in there, James?”

“Dad—”

“He tripped over a _chair_?”

“Dad, come on—” Bucky’s laughing so hard he can barely finish a sentence, and George isn’t really letting him.

“He took his eyes off the saw and almost lost some fingers!”

“He was—”

“James, you know I love Steve, but this is just ridiculous. He’s a _hazard_. He could—he’s going to fall into a can of varnish or something.”

Steve would probably feel worse if Bucky wasn’t laughing so hard. And if he didn’t know that George doesn’t think he’s a _complete_ screw up.

“Sorry, George,” Steve calls. There’s a pause where George realizes he’s on speaker and Steve heard all that.

“Steve, I love you,” George says. “But you are not allowed in my workshop anymore.”

Bucky’s draped over the couch, peals of laughter filling the air, and the sound lights Steve up and fills his chest with happiness, making him laugh, too, out of sheer giddiness.

“I’ll survive,” Steve assures George, and then George starts laughing, too, and the three of them laugh and gasp and snort, and Steve doesn’t know if he’s ever been so happy about being clumsy in his whole life.


	13. lights out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with anxiety attacks and some ableist views of coping mechanisms (Bucky about his own coping mechanisms) and past torture. Nothing MCU canon and "just say you do" itself didn't deal with, but heads up!

“It hasn’t stopped raining since I got here,” Steve complains in Bucky’s ear. Bucky squints toward the window.

“Well, it’s raining here, too,” he informs Steve. “So you’re not missing anything.”

“Except cuddling with you,” Steve pouts. Bucky huffs. Steve’s obviously been gone for a while, because he never gets sappy like that unless he’s joking or he’s sick. But they’ve been apart for four days, the longest they’ve gone without seeing each other since they got married and certainly the longest they’ve been apart since they actually got together for real eight months ago, and they’re both feeling it.

“You can cuddle me all day the day after tomorrow,” Bucky says.

Steve snorts. “How gracious of you,” he teases.

“Hey, you’re the one complaining,” Bucky points out. “I’m just doing my husbandly duty of giving you what you want.”

Steve laughs. “And getting what _you_ want doesn’t factor into that?”

“Who says I want you to cuddle me?” Bucky asks. He can almost hear Steve roll his eyes. Bucky loves nothing more than Steve cuddling him, and Steve is all too aware of that fact.

“You should go to bed,” Steve says, a little regretfully. “You gotta get up for class in the morning.”

Bucky sighs. “Yeah,” he agrees. “And you’ve got adoring fans to attend to.”

Steve laughs. “Five people came to my table all day today.”

“Yeah, because they were all saving you for tomorrow,” Bucky assures him, heart sinking a little. How dare anyone _not_ go to Steve’s table? Captain America is selling well, but apparently people at the con aren’t realizing Steve wrote it.

“Sure, Buck,” Steve says quietly, but Bucky can hear the smile in his voice. “Get some sleep, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Can’t wait,” Bucky says honestly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” There’s _definitely_ a smile on Steve’s face now.

The thunder and lightning start up about an hour after he hangs up with Steve. Bucky shivers and wraps the blanket around himself tighter.

Technically, there’s no reason a storm should scare him. If there were any thunder storms during his time captive, he doesn’t remember them, so it’s not like it’s drudging up bad memories. Still, the booming makes his heart race, and the bright lights are too reminiscent of the lights flashed in his eyes to keep him awake during the sleep deprivation experiments.

_How’s it going?_ Becca texts him about twenty minutes later. Bucky’s hiding in the bedroom, a blanket tacked over the window to block out the lights and noise-canceling headphones over his ears.

_I’m fine_ , he lies. Luckily she can’t see his face.

_Sure you are_ , she calls him out. _Call if you need us. Please._

_I will_ , he promises. There’s only a fifty-fifty chance he’s lying. He doesn’t even really know himself.

_Call Steve_ , she urges.

He doesn’t answer that. Steve needs to sleep. Steve has a long day of talking to strangers. Steve’s better at that than Bucky is, but he still gets anxious. Besides, Steve’s always exhausted. If he can get some sleep tonight, Bucky isn’t going to disturb that.

He gets a snapchat from Gabe of the underside of his bed, meaning Gabe is riding out the storm wedged between his floor and the bedframe. Bucky snaps back a picture of his headphones.

_Do those block out the noise?_ Gabe asks.

Bucky flinches at a loud crack. _Mostly._

He makes himself lie down in bed and close his eyes. That Mythbusters episode said it would help. Besides, he can smell Steve on the pillow next to him. That helps. It kind of makes him miss Steve more, though, which is ridiculous because it hasn’t even been a week.

He must actually fall asleep, because next thing he knows, he’s jerking awake. He doesn’t know what woke him, but his mouth is dry and his heart is pounding and the _light is off_. Bucky always sleeps with the nightlight Bailey got him. He’d left the overhead light in the room on, since Steve isn’t here to be disturbed by it.

But all the lights are off. Bucky makes his way across the room, waiting for his eyes to adjust, and hits the light. Nothing happens. The power’s out.

Do they have a flashlight somewhere? Probably not.

Bucky’s breath starts to come fast. He hates the dark. It presses in on his eyeballs and weighs against his chest. He tries to keep himself calm. It’s just the storm. The power will probably be back on any minute. He’s safe in his apartment. He’s fine.

He holds his breath and counts to ten. It helps him take a deeper breath, but it doesn’t actually help him calm down much. He hits the flashlight on his phone. It slices through the dark and Bucky scans the room, reminding himself that he’s safe, he’s safe, _he’s safe_.

His phone’s only at 54% battery. What if the power stays off all night? He clenches his jaw and opens his computer. He turns the screen’s brightness up as high as it will go and lets the light cast shadows against the wall. He looks at his family’s smiling faces in the desktop photo, at Steve’s arm around his shoulders, and tries to stay calm.

He carries the computer with him through the house, checking cabinets and drawers. No flashlights. They have a package of half-burned birthday candles, but he doesn’t think they’re even worth lighting. He has nothing to hold them in. They don’t have a fireplace. His computer and phone will have to hold him over. The computer dies as he thinks it. That’s what he gets for searching bird videos to send to Sam without charging his computer.

Lightning flashes into the room and he jerks, surprised and breathless from fear. Tears are pooling in his eyes and he hates it. He can’t hold himself together at all these days. He hits Steve’s number. It’s weak of him, but Bucky can’t help it. He needs Steve. And he knows Steve will be hurt if he finds out Bucky was scared and _didn’t_ call him, so he’s doing the right thing, honestly. Maybe someday he’ll actually convince himself of that.

“’Lo?” Steve answers, all muffled and sleepy. Bucky’s muscles relax maybe a fraction, but he’s still breathing way too fast. Holding the phone to his ear means he doesn’t have the light, but Steve can’t hear very well when it’s on speaker.

“Steve,” he manages to say.

“Buck.” Steve instantly sounds more alert, attuned enough to hear the distress in Bucky’s voice. “What is it? Where are you?”

“I’m home,” Bucky tells him. He can’t say anything else, jaw clenched tight against another boom of thunder.

“Okay,” Steve says soothingly. “Good. But _when_ are you?”

“I’m here,” Bucky says. “But I—the lights, Steve. They’re out.”

Steve pieces through that for a second. “The power went out?” He checks.

“Yeah.” Bucky’s voice is tight and strained.

“Shit,” Steve breathes. “Buck, you okay?”

“No,” Bucky admits.

“God,” Steve says. He sounds worried and scared and Bucky wants to smack himself for doing that to Steve. “I wish I was there with you, Bucky. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Bucky grits out. He sucks in a breath as lightning flashes again. “Lightning,” he tells Steve.

“Must be what knocked the electricity out,” Steve says. “Can you get to your parents’ house?”

“I…” Bucky has to break off to pant in a few shallow breaths. Steve makes a little noise of dismay. “Steve, it’s so dark.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again. “You probably already looked, but I don’t think we have any flashlights, do we?”

“No,” Bucky confirms. “My computer died.” His voice is wet with tears now and he’ll be embarrassed about it in the morning. But it’s Steve, so he won’t be _too_ embarrassed.

“Fuck,” Steve says, and it almost sounds like _his_ voice is getting choked, too. “Bucky, I’m so sorry I’m not there.”

“It’s so dark,” Bucky repeats, trembling now. “I can’t breathe.”

“You can,” Steve says, voice a little shaky. “You have to, okay?” His voice gets steadier. “Can you breathe with me? Same way we do when I have an asthma attack, right? Take a deep breath with me.”

Bucky follows Steve’s lead, taking a long inhale and holding it for a second before letting it out. They get through three before Bucky’s head clears enough to think at all.

“I don’t know if my parents have power,” he says.

“They have flashlights, though, don’t they?” Steve asks. They do. They took a lot of family camping trips, in actual tents instead of the cabin. They have lanterns.

“I don’t know if I can get there, Steve,” Bucky admits. He’s so useless. He used to be able to lead people, to notice danger before it even fully appeared, to stand up against fear and fight back. Now he can’t even get off the floor because the lights are out. Pathetic.

“You’re not pathetic,” Steve says softly, so Bucky must’ve said at least some of that out loud. Some days he can barely talk when he _wants_ to, and here he is just blurting shit out.

“I’m crying on the living room floor because the power went out,” Bucky points out, and then he has to hold his breath to keep from hyperventilating or crying again. Or both.

“That doesn’t make you pathetic,” Steve says firmly. “Don’t talk about my husband like that.”

It actually makes Bucky laugh a little bit. “You’re a dork.”

“You knew that going into this.”

“No, I didn’t,” Bucky huffs. “I didn’t know _anything_ before I married you.”

Steve laughs. “Okay, not when we got _legally_ married. But when we decided to be _actually_ married.”

“Alright, alright.”

Bucky listens to Steve breathe for a few minutes. Steve’s mostly letting Bucky lead the conversation, such as it is, which is kind of nice and kind of terrible. He just wants Steve to fix this and make everything better. It’s kind of a lot to ask. Steve can’t control the weather.

“I think you should try to get to your parents’ house,” Steve suggests gently. “I’ll stay on the phone with you the whole time.”

“It’s just…” Bucky swallows hard. “It’s so much to do,” he practically whispers. He has to get dressed. And put on a jacket. And shoes. And go out in the storm. The dark, scary, _loud_ storm. And rain. Water in his face. Pulling on his hair, shoving his head under the water, again and again and—

“Bucky!” Steve cuts through his mental fog. Bucky’s breath is coming in fast, ragged bursts. His face is wet with sweat and tears.

“I can’t,” Bucky begs. “Steve, I can’t.”

“Okay,” Steve agrees. “Okay, don’t go out. Can you call your mom?”

“I’d have to hang up with you.”

“I know,” Steve murmurs. “It’s okay. You’ll talk to your mom. And then you’ll call me right back. I’ll be waiting right here.”

Bucky’s hands are shaking so badly he almost drops the phone. This is ridiculous. He’s a grown man and he can’t get through a thunderstorm. He shudders at another rumble of thunder. He can do this. All he has to do is make a phone call. His mother will come. She always comes for him. Even when everyone thought he was dead, his mom waited. She came right away when the doctors told her she could.

Bucky takes a deep breath. He can do this. “Okay,” he whispers. “I’ll call you right back.”

“I love you,” Steve says, and it’s stupid how much that helps. Steve’s strong and brave. If he loves Bucky, there must be something in Bucky that reflects that.

Even if that means he has to go crying to his mother because he’s afraid of the dark.

Winifred picks up on the fourth ring. “James?” She asks. “What’s wrong? It’s 2 am.”

“The power’s out,” he says desperately, trying to breathe normally so he doesn’t scare her. His mom cries easily and gets freaked out in hospitals, but she is someone who can be counted on in a crisis. She catches on immediately.

“Okay,” Winifred says firmly. “I’m on my way, sweetie. Are you going to be okay until I get there?”

“I gotta call Steve,” Bucky babbles.

“Good,” Winifred says. “Okay. Hang up and call Steve. Dad and I are coming.”

“Thanks,” Bucky manages. He doesn’t wait for a reply, which would’ve earned him a scolding two years ago. Nothing really earns him a scolding anymore.

“She coming?” Steve answers without preamble.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “She’s coming.”

“Good,” Steve says. “Thunder and lightning still going on?”

“Yeah,” Bucky reports. He breathes out harshly, trying to keep it together. It’s humiliating. Isn’t this shit ever going to get better? He knows his therapist would say he’s not being fair to himself. If it were Steve, or Dugan, or Beth, or anyone he cared about, he wouldn’t be half as harsh.

“What can I do?” Steve asks. “How can I help, baby?” The pet name is almost jarring. They don’t really use pet names. Sometimes during sex an endearment might slip in here or there, but usually if they’re calling each other _baby_ or _doll_ or _sugar_ it’s sarcastic and teasing. Steve’s seriously freaked out.

“Just talk to me,” Bucky pleads.

“Boy, you might regret that request,” Steve jokes, but his voice is uneven. “Let me tell you about this awful guy who came through the tables today. He was hitting on every woman he saw. And _bad_ lines, too. Totally gross and explicit.”

“What’d you do?” Bucky manages to grunt, to show Steve he’s listening. He makes it back to the bedroom and pulls the blanket over his head. The dark is terrible, but the flashes of lightning are worse. Under the covers, his phone creates a glow even pressed to his ear.

“Oh, you assume I did something?” Steve asks, sounding like he has an eyebrow raised. He doesn’t wait for Bucky to try to formulate a response. “Well, okay, I sort of lost it on him.” He launches into the story. Bucky loses the thread of it a little—something with convention staff and feathers, maybe?—but the sound of Steve’s voice washes over him, soothing.

His phone buzzes just as the front door buzzer does, too. “My mom’s here,” Bucky interrupts, knowing it must be her without even checking.

“Oh, good,” Steve says. “I’ve been making up everything I’ve been saying for the last fifteen minutes.”

Bucky’s suddenly seized by terror. “You can’t hang up,” he says. “Steve, don’t leave.”

“I’m not going _anywhere_ ,” Steve promises fiercely. “You know I’m not leaving you.”

“Okay,” Bucky breathes, relieved. “I gotta let my parents in.”

They come in with…an impressive array of light. His dad is holding an entire backpack of flashlights and lanterns, all the camping gear they accumulated over the years. He immediately starts turning them on and placing them around the living room. Bucky’s shoulders start to relax as soon as he can see his hands in front of his face.

His mom is carrying three battery-powered _tiki torches_. Bucky blinks.

“Ma?” He asks. “She’s got tiki torches,” he tells Steve.

There’s a pause. “What?” Steve finally asks.

Winifred rolls her eyes. “You remember when Beth was in drama club for about ten minutes? They were doing South Pacific and that teacher asked me to get decorations and she sent me a catalog to pick from and _this_ was the best they had. And then Beth quit before they even did the production.”

Bucky doesn’t remember it, but he doesn’t think anyone actually expected him to. He sits down on the couch, limbs going heavy as he comes down from the adrenaline rush.

“Thanks for coming,” he says softly, not able to meet either of his parents’ eyes.

“We’ll always come,” Winifred says, voice a little watery.

“You should probably keep some of these flashlights,” George says. “I’m not sure we need to light Brooklyn single-handedly.”

“Light?” Steve asks.

“Yeah,” Bucky assures him. “They brought tons of light.”

“Oh, good,” Steve says. He sounds tired.

“Sorry,” Bucky murmurs. “You should go to sleep.” His stomach plummets even as he says it. He knows his parents are probably going to stay with him, so he should be fine, but the thought of not hearing Steve’s breathing sends fear down his spine.

“Hell no,” Steve says. “You woke me up, now you’re stuck listening to me for the rest of the night.”

Bucky wants to cry again. He drops his head and wishes his hair were long enough to shake around to cover his face. It’s still growing out after the surgery. He hears his parents start to have a quiet conversation to pretend they don’t notice.

“Steve,” Bucky whispers. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Buck,” Steve says. “This is what I’m here for. You’d do it for me. We’re here for each other.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. He sniffles. “But still. This is a lot.”

“Eh,” Steve says, all forced casual, and Bucky laughs.

“So was the thing with the feathers real or were you making that up?” He asks, settling into the couch. George and Winifred cram themselves into the armchair in a way that’s half-horrifying and half-adorable. George pulls out a book from thin air and Winifred snuggles against his shoulder.

Steve laughs, leaving Bucky feeling warm all over. He has light again and his parents are murmuring to each other, smiles on both their faces. He has Steve’s voice in his ear and Steve coming home tomorrow.

He slips into a doze. He won’t be able to sleep tonight, not after such a big freak-out. But Steve’s still talking. He’s moved on from the feathers and is telling Bucky all about the bad water pressure in his hotel room.

“I mean, I shouldn’t complain,” Steve says after complaining for five minutes. Bucky’s eyes are closed but a smile breaks out across his face because that’s Steve, through and through. “They’re paying for me to be here.”

They breathe together. “My phone might die,” Bucky warns him quietly.

“Okay,” Steve says, voice slow with sleep. “I’ll keep talking ‘til it does.”

“You’re falling asleep,” Bucky says.

“No,” Steve protests, then erupts in a yawn a second later. “I’m wide awake.”

Bucky snorts. “You can hang up.”

“Don’t wanna,” Steve says stubbornly. Then, quieter and more serious, he adds, “It’s not easy to sleep without you.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Same here.”

Neither of them talk after that, and Bucky dozes to the sound of Steve’s snuffling breaths until his phone dies.

 

Steve comes home early with an extra bag. The power is back on, and Winifred and George left three camping lanterns with Bucky just in case. They hadn’t wanted to leave him at all, but Bucky always needs to be alone to decompress after a meltdown like that.

Winifred made him French toast before she left and George stole one of Steve’s WWII books, so everything’s pretty par for the course.

But Bucky’s sitting on the couch doing reading for the classes he missed—he’d been too exhausted to go to class after being up all night—and Steve isn’t due back for another four hours, at least, when he comes waltzing in the door.

“Hi,” Bucky says, frozen. “What…?”

“I came home early,” Steve says unnecessarily. Bucky can see that. Steve drops all his bags right in the entryway, making Bucky wince internally, and then climbs right up into Bucky’s lap. He buries his face in Bucky’s neck and takes a deep inhale.

“I should’ve been here last night,” he says, muffled. Bucky closes his eyes. He’s not panicking anymore, so he feels pretty embarrassed about freaking out so badly.

“There’s no way you could’ve known,” Bucky points out, rubbing his flesh hand down Steve’s back.

“Still.”

“You helped,” Bucky promises, planting his hands on either side of Steve’s face and pulling him up for a kiss. “So much.”

“Good,” Steve says into Bucky’s mouth. “I was so scared for you.”

Bucky shakes his head a little, swallowing down tears. “It was just dark,” he says, frustrated with himself.

“You don’t get to pick your triggers, Buck.”

“I could pick less ridiculous reactions,” Bucky mutters.

Steve sighs and rests his forehead against Bucky’s. “Well, that’s between you and your therapist,” he finally says. Bucky knows he had to work not to argue with Bucky. Steve can say Bucky’s not ridiculous all he wants, but Bucky knows he is. He’s glad Steve’s letting that part of the conversation lie.

“What’s in that bag?” Bucky asks. “You bring home stuff from the con?”

“Oh,” Steve says. “Yeah.” He just sits there for a second, and then he sort of nuzzles Bucky’s face before getting off him. “I picked up some stuff.”

He brings the bag over—leaving the other bags where he dropped them, meaning he’ll forget about them in five seconds and Bucky will have to move them to the bedroom and probably unpack them, or else Steve will just keep pulling clothes out of the suitcase like he doesn’t actually live here or something—and settles back into his previous spot, which is on top of Bucky. Bucky’s certainly not complaining.

Steve pulls out the contents of the bag and Bucky’s face grows warm. One of those rechargeable power bricks you can plug your phone into without needing to use electricity. Four flashlights and three packages of batteries. A wind-up flashlight. A rechargeable nightlight that doesn’t have to be plugged in. A headlamp.

“I don’t know if you’ll be able to do that one,” Steve says, shrugging. “Since it goes around your head and might be bad for you. But you can try. Then you can have your hands free and still have light. And if you don’t like it, I can use it.”

“Steve,” Bucky says. He bites his lip and decides against what he was going to say. “Thanks.” He’s embarrassed. Steve, of course, picks up on it. He sets everything aside and holds Bucky’s chin in his hand, rubbing circles into his thigh with the other.

“I know you’re embarrassed,” Steve murmurs. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to embarrass you. I just want us to be ready the next time this happens. We should’ve thought about this.”

“I shouldn’t need this,” Bucky argues, exasperated. He looks away. “I shouldn’t be such a baby.”

He can feel Steve’s frown. He clenches his jaw, ready for the old speech about how Bucky went through terrible things and he’s entitled to his coping methods and triggers, yadda yadda. But Steve surprises him.

“Fine,” Steve says. “Work on it. But for now, you _do_ need this, and I’m not just going to ignore that, Buck. I get you what you need, and I don’t care if it’s the most ridiculous thing in the world. Got it?”

Bucky can’t help but smile a little. He shakes his head. “Got it,” he answers. “But that goes both ways, Rogers. Medicine and asthma attacks and blanket forts included.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling at Bucky. “Okay,” he agrees. “Ridiculous needs will be met for both of us.”

Bucky nods decisively. He reaches around Steve to pick up the headlamp. He gets the band about an inch from his head before he shudders and has to drop it.

“Nope,” he says apologetically.

Steve shrugs. “Oh well,” he says, putting it on his own head. It looks incredibly silly.

“You look like a dork,” Bucky says, laughing.

“I _am_ a dork,” Steve reminds him. “You knew that going in.”

Bucky laughs again and leans in to kiss Steve. The headlamp bumping against his forehead gives him a twinge of unease, but it’s small enough to ignore.

“I guess it’s not terrible,” Bucky says.

“Oh, what a relief,” Steve says, kissing him some more. “I’d sure hate to get kicked to the curb after I spent three hundred dollars on flashlights.”

Bucky grins against Steve’s lips. “Well don’t spend too much,” he says. “We both know I’m only here for your money.”

Steve cracks up laughing, and it makes Bucky laugh, too. He still thinks he’s ridiculous and overemotional and wishes he could just _deal_ with things the way he used to. But Steve’s right—he’ll work on it. For now, Steve’s going to make sure he has what he needs, no matter what.

And that, Bucky decides as Steve makes increasingly silly faces to model the headlamp, is not a bad thing at all.


	14. god only knows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been one year since _just say you do_ wrapped up! I'm STILL blown away by how much love people had (and are somehow still having!) for my silly little fic that started from a tumblr post. Thank you all so, so much. This is incredibly sappy and I hope you like it. Please note that for days I have not listened to a single song besides Michael Buble's new cover of "God Only Knows", so, you know, some sap was to be expected.

Steve wakes up to pans rattling around in the kitchen and he groans. It’s too early. He doesn’t know what time it is, actually, but he knows it’s too early. Bucky drops something and bites out a curse. Luna whines.

Steve presses his face into the pillow and groans again. He hadn’t slept super well last night, for no reason other than just his body, and Bucky’s usually better about being quiet after nights like that. Which potentially means that Bucky’s having a bad day. Steve sighs a little.

Every once in a while, he wishes they were normal. What would it be like for both of them to get a full night’s sleep on the same night? To be able to go to any restaurant in the city and eat anything, regardless of ingredients or textures or carb counts or number of windows? To walk into a room full of people and just…not notice?

But there’s no use wishing that, and he feels a little bad for thinking it. He loves Bucky, and Bucky loves him, and they’re happy. He doesn’t need fancy restaurants that are poorly lit and cross-contaminated. He puts on his glasses and dry swallows the meds he has to take before he eats, and then he just kind of slumps back in bed and blinks for a while.

Bucky comes in with a plate of eggs. “Sorry I woke you up,” he says immediately, grimacing. “I was just bringing you breakfast so you could stay in bed since you didn’t sleep last night. But then I couldn’t find the right pan and I dropped the milk on my foot and that probably woke you up.”

Steve shakes his head, smiling now. “Jeez,” he murmurs. “You were being sweet and I wasn’t thinking real nice thoughts about you.”

Bucky laughs and climbs up onto Steve’s legs. “Well, it was probably a nice break for your brain from all the fantasizing you do about me all the time.” Steve snorts and starts eating his eggs while Bucky reaches over for the rest of Steve’s medicine. “Getting sick or just the usual?”

“Just the usual,” Steve grumbles. Bucky’s digging his toes into Steve’s shin and it keeps making him jump, which makes Bucky laugh, so Steve doesn’t tell him to quit it. He’s not quite in a bad mood. He gets snappy sometimes after a bad night, but Bucky’s doing a good job of heading it off. He’s learned how after nearly five years.

“I had this idea,” Bucky says, kind of slow and cautious enough that Steve squints at him suspiciously. “You won’t hate it. I don’t think. Well, I don’t know, maybe right now’s not the best time to bring it up.” He worries a bit at his bottom lip and Steve puts down his fork.

“Buck?”

Bucky shrugs. “I just thought, you know. Um. Our anniversary’s next month.”

“I remember,” Steve teases him. Bucky outlined the day on the calendar with about forty hearts. It looks ridiculous, especially considering Steve’s not sure he knows anyone else their age who has an actual calendar on the wall. But Bucky needs to write down appointments and tests and assignments and it helps him to cross the days off once they end.

“Five years seems like a big deal,” Bucky says. “I mean, it _is_ a big deal. Not in a bad way. In a good way.”

“Hey,” Steve cuts him off. “What’s going on? What are you nervous about?”

Bucky doesn’t bother trying to pretend he isn’t nervous. He blows out a breath. “I was thinking maybe we should have a big party.”

“Okay…” Steve’s a little confused. He doesn’t get why Bucky would be acting squirrely over having a party with their family and friends. They do that practically every weekend.

“And uh. Renew our vows,” Bucky blurts out really fast, so it’s kind of garbled and Steve can’t understand him. Steve doesn’t even have to ask before he winces and repeats himself, slower this time.

“Oh,” Steve says. He’s never really thought about them renewing their vows. He’s not opposed to it; it just never really crossed his mind.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Bucky gives him a shy sort of smile. “I guess what I’m asking is sorta…you wanna marry me again? For real this time?”

Any doubts Steve might’ve had fly out the window. He knows it really bothers Bucky that their whole wedding was a sham. They barely even liked each other in any way at that point. And Steve’s kind of a romantic, so it disappoints him a little sometimes, but he’s also a realist. They’re married now and they love each other. It all worked out.

But Bucky is a _romantic._ Bucky is a candles-for-a-random-Thursday-dinner romantic. Bucky belongs in some kind of movie, with the slow dances in the kitchen and breakfast in bed and surprise visits when Steve’s at a con. Steve tries to reciprocate, he really does, but he’s nowhere near Bucky’s league. Steve chooses to believe it’s because Bucky had George and Winifred as examples his whole life.

“Of course,” Steve promises, leaning forward to kiss Bucky. “I’d marry you every day if I could.”

Bucky scoffs a little at that, but he’s grinning. “You don’t want anyone getting their paws on me.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Like anyone else would want you,” he lies. Bucky smirks at him, because, yeah, Bucky still gets plenty of interest from just about everyone around them, all the time. Steve mock-glares and knocks his knee into Bucky’s. He doesn’t get nearly as jealous anymore.

“I was thinking we could do it up at the cabin,” Bucky says. “Don’t you think? There’s not really enough room for everyone to stay there but we could do it in the afternoon and kick everyone out and have the hot tub to ourselves.”

Steve laughs, pitching forward to bury his face in Bucky’s chest. They’d tested it out, and it turns out the heat actually _isn’t_ a problem for Bucky.

“The cabin sounds great,” Steve says. “Are we inviting your aunts? Because you know they’re gonna take over again.”

“We don’t have to,” Bucky says, but Steve can tell he wants to. He wants this to make up for what they didn’t have. Or, rather, what they _did_ have but didn’t appreciate. He wants a big to-do, with the flowers and the cake and the dancing and the sappy vows. Steve bites back a sigh. Doing it once was kind of a lot. But Bucky wants it. And besides, it’ll be different this time. He’s kind of into Bucky now. Just a bit.

He kisses Bucky again. “No bow ties this time,” he requests against Bucky’s lips.

“What about suspenders?” Bucky wheedles.

“I do not understand your thing with suspenders.”

“What can I say? My husband looks hot in suspenders. Who am I to let him hide that under a bushel? Or a sweater, as it were.”

“Fine,” Steve relents. “Suspenders.”

Bucky kisses him very enthusiastically, and Steve knows what he’s thinking even before he says, “And then nothing but the suspenders after everyone leaves.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve informs him. Bucky steals some of his eggs. He’s well aware, and he is not the least bit repentant.

 

“Why does Roger want to do the ceremony?” Bucky’s on the phone as he comes in the house. “It’s not an actual ceremony this time. Does he realize that?” He rolls his eyes at Steve and then leans over the back of the couch to give him an upside-down kiss. “No, Ma, we’ve got our own vows. We don’t need him to—no, I don’t want to hurt his feelings but I—because this is for us, not for him!”

It’s been two weeks since they decided to renew their vows, and it’s turning into more of a circus even than the first time around. The problem is that they gave Ann more time to plan this time. And she is _using_ it. The other problem is that Bucky’s family is gigantic. Steve loves them all, maybe with exception of Edgar, but when there are so many of them, there tends to be…drama. Someone won’t sit by someone else because of something they said three years ago at Christmas. Someone’s kids don’t get along. Someone’s mad because they’re getting married two weeks after the vow renewal and have been planning it for two years and think Steve and Bucky are stealing their thunder. (Steve does actually feel a little bad about that last one, but they _did_ get married on this particular day first.)

Now they’ve apparently offended Roger by not letting him do some kind of ceremony for them. Steve holds in a sigh. This whole thing has been one stress after another. Bucky’s hair is going to be permanently fluffed in the back from the way he keeps grabbing at it.

“Okay, we’ll talk about it later, goodbye.” Bucky harrumphs and lets his whole body sag over the back of the couch and onto Steve. Steve huffs and sinks a little under his weight. “Whose idea was this again?” Bucky asks, muffled in Steve’s hair. Steve doesn’t even dignify that with a response.

“It’ll be fine,” he says, trying to sound chipper. Bucky wants them to be romantic. Bucky wants a better memory of their wedding. “Roger can say a few words. It’s not a big deal.”

“He was always so weird about me being gay ‘til you came along.”

Steve makes a disagreeing noise. “Think it might’ve been more about the whole almost-dying thing,” he points out dryly. Bucky shrugs.

“We still have to decide on chocolate or vanilla for the cake,” he reminds Steve. He’s still slumped down all over Steve and Steve tugs at his shoulders until he just climbs over the couch and sprawls on top of Steve instead.

“I thought we already decided chocolate.”

“No, you said chocolate because _I_ like chocolate and I said vanilla because _you_ like vanilla and we’re at an impasse.”

Steve runs his hands up and down Bucky’s back. “How was school?”

Bucky groans. “That’s an even worse topic. I’m going to fail all my finals.”

Steve hums sympathetically. “Well, I’ll still love you. Probably.”

Bucky licks Steve’s neck in retaliation and Steve shrieks, setting Luna off barking and pawing at them, and then Bucky falls off the couch onto the floor because he’s laughing too hard and Steve’s not strong enough to keep him up there.

Steve lets his head hang down to look at Bucky. “I really am fine with chocolate.”

“But—”

“We had vanilla last time,” Steve reminds him triumphantly. Bucky rolls his eyes, but he laughs a little.

“Fine. I’ll text Ann and let her know.”

“How much pasta salad is Kay going to bring?”

Bucky groans again, louder this time. “I accidentally told her I was craving it the other day.”

Steve can barely talk from laughing. His phone buzzes and he scoffs a little when he reads the text from Natasha.

“Natasha is demanding to give another best-woman speech.”

“Are we doing that again?” Bucky asks. He’s got his flesh arm tucked under his head, stroking Luna’s ears with the metal one. “I didn’t tell Dugan.”

“I don’t really care if we do or not,” Steve admits. “But apparently we are.”

“This is turning into a lot more than I thought it would.”

Steve doesn’t say anything to that. Bucky _wanted_ a big thing. He was so excited to go cake tasting and caterer-shopping. Steve’s been hoping Bucky’s enthusiasm would rub off on him and make him excited, too, but it hasn’t so far, and Bucky’s enthusiasm seems to be waning.

“Steve?” Bucky asks quietly. “Do you think this whole thing is stupid?”

“No,” Steve answers immediately. “Bucky, what are you talking about?”

Bucky sits up so their eyes are at the same level. “We’re already married,” he says. “I know how you feel about me and you know how I feel about you. Doing all this again just seems kinda…I don’t know. Silly.”

Steve takes his time considering his answer. He agrees, really, but he doesn’t want to agree if Bucky’s only saying that because he thinks Steve doesn’t want to go through with it. Steve’ll do all this if Bucky really wants.

“It does seem a little silly,” Steve admits. “But I think it’s nice. Our hearts weren’t in it the first time.”

Bucky chews at his lip. His hair is sticking up in the back from where he’d mussed it lying on the ground. “Yeah,” he says. “But our hearts have been in it every day for years. And…and everyone’s butting in. I wanted them to be part of it but I didn’t want them to do all _this._ ”

Steve slides off the couch to sit in front of Bucky, practically in his lap. “What are you saying, Buck? You want to…call it off?”

“Would you be disappointed?” Bucky asks. He drops his eyes to look at the ground. “I…I’m not sure I could say my own vows. In front of everyone. They’re all my family but…Steve, they’d all be looking at me and thinking about what happened to me and I just…you know I’m not afraid to—I don’t know—tell everyone how much I love you, but the whole big group and everyone watching me and…”

“Hey,” Steve says softly, putting his hand on Bucky’s cheek. “I know how much you love me. I don’t care if you never say it in front of anyone else for the rest of our lives.”

Bucky snorts. “Okay, that’s not true, and anyway, like that would ever happen.” Steve has to laugh, because Bucky has a point. He has a habit of gushing about Steve pretty often, and it’s not like Steve hates it.

“You know what I mean. Bucky, I’m fine with cancelling this if that’s what you really want. But are you sure? You were so excited.”

“I was,” Bucky agrees. “But…I don’t know. It doesn’t feel that important anymore. Some of my family still doesn’t even know the truth, so they won’t get how important this is. I kinda feel like it’s just for us, you know?”

“I do know,” Steve murmurs. He kisses Bucky. “I think you’re right.”

Bucky takes a deep breath. He presses his forehead against Steve’s. “Steve,” he says quietly. “When you walked into that restaurant the first time, I thought, _you gotta be kidding me_. We ate dinner and everything was awkward and tense and I didn’t see how we could possibly make it work for a whole year. A year felt like forever.” He laughs. Steve’s heart is in his throat. He’s just fine with doing this right here, on their living room floor, with Luna nosing at their knees.

“And now it’s been five, and I can’t imagine not having you. Not waking up to your face every day. Not having you drooling on me every night.” They both laugh, a little watery now. “I love you. I’m so happy you never back down from anything. I’m so happy you understand me. You push me and make me better and piss me off like no one else, and I’m grateful every damn day. I’m just. So happy. In general. You make me so happy. Forever.”

He smiles and kisses Steve and Steve has to cling to him for a second. He hasn’t really finished the vows he was planning to write. But he feels a lot less pressure when it’s just Bucky. Bucky won’t mind if the words aren’t perfect.

“I was lonely for a long time,” Steve says, and Bucky’s face crumples. He hates thinking about the years when Steve was alone. “I had my ma as a kid, but I didn’t really have friends. And then I lost my mom, but I got friends. It felt like everything was a tradeoff, you know? I could have family or I could friends, but I couldn’t have both.” He has to stop to swallow down the lump in his throat. “You gave me both. You’re my best friend and you’re my family and you always make sure my friends are included in everything because they’re my family, too, and you share your huge family with me. You never make me feel bad when I just want to lie in bed and sleep all day. You’re always there for me. I never want to be away from you. Even when you wake me up too early when you go for your run or you try to be sweet and make me breakfast in bed and make enough noise to wake up our neighbors, too.”

Bucky’s crying, of course, because Bucky cries at everything, but they’re both grinning hard. “I love you, Bucky. I love our life.” He doesn’t know if he had anything more, but it doesn’t really matter because Bucky’s surging forward to kiss him breathless.

“I love you,” Bucky whispers.

“I love you, too.”

They’re kissing and crying and kissing more—kissing a lot—and Luna’s still sitting there licking at her paws and snuffling around under the couch in case someone dropped food there recently, and it makes Steve start laughing so hard he can’t kiss Bucky anymore.

“What?” Bucky asks, puzzled but laughing at Steve laughing.

“Just…” Steve shrugs helplessly. “Bucky, do you know how perfect our life is? It’s…it’s ridiculous. We got married without even knowing each other and somehow it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Me too,” Bucky murmurs, wrapping his arms around Steve tight. “And yeah. I know. Sometimes when I’m awake in the middle of the night and you’re snoring—”

“It’s my sinuses!” Steve protests.

“—I think about that. It could’ve been so awful. I think it would’ve been, if my mom had found anyone but you. You were exactly what I needed. Still are.”

You too,” Steve promises. The kisses are sweet and speak of some potential for later. But first Bucky needs to eat, since he’s been at school all day. They’re making dinner, and it’s just normal, with the two of them elbowing each other and stopping to kiss every five minutes, but Steve’s heart feels so full it could burst.

After they eat, Steve’s doing dishes and Bucky’s holding onto him from behind, arms wrapped around Steve’s waist—being quite the hindrance and not helping _at all_ —and Bucky’s phone rings.

“Shit, it’s Ann,” he says, panicked. “I have to tell her we’re canceling.”

Steve whistles. “Good luck with that.”

“Can you do it?” Bucky asks, shoving the phone at him.

“Uh, no. She’s _your_ aunt.”

“I share my huge family with you!” Bucky throws Steve’s incredibly heartfelt vows right back in his face. Steve gives him an offended glare.

“Sharing doesn’t mean all the time. I’m doing the dishes right now. Not my fault you were being lazy and not helping and now have neither my sympathy nor my backup.”

“Unbelievable,” Bucky mutters. He’s trying to look mad but the smile taking up his whole face won’t be smothered. “You tell a guy he’s the most important thing in your life and he just shuts the door in your face.”

“Metaphorically,” Steve says. “Since I can’t shut any doors on account of the soapy water all over my hands.”

Bucky’s phone stops buzzing and they both look at it. “I missed the call,” Bucky says, and then they’re both laughing, gasping for air, speechless. Bucky’s holding onto the countertop to stay upright and Steve’s holding onto Bucky, leaving soapy wet marks on his shirt.

“I’ll call her back later,” Bucky gasps.

“I still won’t help you,” Steve says, sending them into fresh peals of laughter.

“You’re an asshole,” Bucky manages to squeak out.

“Well, you’re stuck with me,” Steve tells him. They’re laughing and falling down in the kitchen and sniping at each other, and Steve wouldn’t have it any other way for the rest of forever.


	15. Go to bed angry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for [sue](http://sue-denime.tumblr.com) for being a super smart bamf!!! Also this is a bit angsty, set in the boys' first year of _actual_ marriage. Sadly the power of love takes work. Ugh.

Honestly, it's amazing their happy bubble of new-relationship bliss lasts as long as it does before it pops, considering the conditions of how they got together and both their stubborn personalities. They make it to March without anything more than some morning grumpiness and bickering over the laundry and the TV and the kitchen and...

Well, okay, they bicker a lot.

But they don't _fight_. Most of their bickering is good-natured, accompanied by smirks or mock-scowls. Steve hears other couples arguing on the train, real arguments with clenched teeth and furious glares, and is grateful every time that they're not like that.

So maybe it's karma, what happens.

The trouble comes around Bucky's birthday, which sucks because he should enjoy his birthday. But George and Winifred give them a night in a fancy hotel and pay for a cab to take them there so they don't have to deal with the train. It chafes at Steve, the same way he chafes at the first of every month when he's not paying rent and the same way he chafes when Shield sends his pay checks to a bank account that's not mere cents away from completely empty and the same way he chafes when they go out to dinner with George and Winifred and they won’t let him pay for his part of the bill.

It's not that Steve doesn't enjoy getting away from that panicked paycheck-to-paycheck life. It's that he didn't _earn_ it. He got money _and_ he got Bucky. It isn't right. It's why he and Bucky haven't gotten a joint bank account yet, even though Bucky mentioned it once. Steve feels weird about using someone else's money.

They're at the hotel, a big resort place with fluffy robes and a honeymoon suite and chocolate-covered fruit waiting for them, and Steve has to bite his tongue. This is Bucky's birthday present. It would be wrong to refuse it. Especially because Bucky seems pretty excited about it.

"The tub has jets," Bucky says, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that makes Steve laugh despite himself. "Join me for a _romantic soak_?"

"Be right in," Steve promises. "Let me just check my email one time."

"Steve," Bucky groans. "No work, remember? You wouldn't let me bring my engineering homework."

"Mostly because it makes me feel nauseated," Steve jokes. "I know, I'm sorry, I just need to see if Coulson wants me to redo that third panel or not."

"What are you going to do if he does?" Bucky says logically. "You didn't bring your stuff with you."

"Well, I can plan what I'm going to do," Steve says, tapping at his phone. "And I brought my sketchbook. I can do some rough outlines."

"Come on, you can't go one weekend without Captain America?" Bucky wheedles. "You won't die."

Steve's starting to get irritated. This is his job. Just because Bucky's never had to wonder where his next month's rent is coming from—

He stops himself. Bucky hasn't worried about money, sure, but what he _has_ had to worry about is a hell of a lot worse.

He takes a deep breath. "I need to make sure I'm taking care of my work," he says evenly. "So I don't have to worry about getting fired."

The look Bucky's giving him is inscrutable. They're not arguing over the email anymore, Steve knows, but he's not entirely sure what is they _are_ arguing over.

"Because you love what you're doing?" Bucky asks, a little barbed now. Steve flushes. This isn't really what he planned for his life. He's grateful, he's _so_ grateful, but he didn't major in art because he wanted to be a comic book artist. He's having an amazing time, even when things are frustrating, but he wouldn't say he loves drawing and writing Captain America. He doesn’t think about Captain America in his spare time. But he has readers now. He has _fans_. He can't just stop.

"So I don't have to leech off your parents."

The words leave his mouth, harsh and bitter, before he can think about how they'll sound to Bucky, who doesn't have a job and who relied on his parents completely before he started school and got his grants and who still works at his parents’ store to get money sometimes. Bucky inhales sharply like he's been slapped.

"Oh." His voice is quiet, and somehow that's worse than if he'd shouted. "Got it."

"Bucky," Steve says desperately. "I didn't mean...I wasn't talking about you, I was talking about _me_ —"

Bucky cuts him off with a humorless laugh. "Right," he says sharply. "It's okay for me to do it because I'm fucked up. But you're normal, right? So it's not okay. It’s wrong. I get a free pass for being crazy.”

"You're not—"

"You're better than me, is that it? You got your problems but you're still strong enough to keep it together and get a job."

"I didn't have a choice!" Steve snaps, getting mad now. "I didn't have anyone to bail me out."

Bucky's blinking hard the way that means he's fighting tears. He runs his hands through his hair, barely growing back after his brain got cut up and he _could have died_ , and Steve can't breathe suddenly. Why does he always fuck everything up? Why does he always say the wrong thing?

"But you do now," Bucky says softly. "You don't want it?"

Steve doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know how to explain that it feels wrong to ask anything else of Bucky's parents when they've already done so much for him, that he feels dirty because they were paying him for all those months with Bucky when Steve got so much out of it, that he hates the memory of Bucky thinking he was only there for the money.

Bucky takes one of the key cards off the table and walks to the door.

"Where are you going?" Steve asks, voice a little shrill because he's terrified for a blinding second that Bucky is leaving, _really_ leaving, the end, even though Bucky's bag is still sitting there on the bed.

"I need to go for a walk." Bucky's voice is still small and quiet and it hurts Steve's stomach. Steve doesn't want him to go, thinks they should talk this through and hash it out before it festers, but he doesn't feel like he gets to insist Bucky stay.

Bucky waits for another second, but Steve doesn't know what else to say. Bucky nods, and then he walks out the door.

 

Steve's sitting miserably on the edge of the bed. The sun's long gone down, and he hasn't bothered to turn on any lights. The shades are open, so street lamps are at least coming through.

Bucky's been gone all day. Steve wants to text him and ask where he is but he's afraid. What if this is it? They tried, but what if Bucky realizes Steve isn't what he thought, isn't what he wants? This isn't going to be the last time Steve says something horrible. Hell, it's not even the first time. Steve lashes out when he's mad, and he can't seem to make himself stop.

They put too much pressure on themselves too quickly, staying married. They did everything out of order and they never got a period of time to just date, to see how they fit together in a romantic relationship. Maybe they should’ve gotten divorced and then dated. Maybe they would’ve realized they don’t work.

He never even checked his email. He wants to throw his phone across the room. Why didn't he just do it without saying anything? Why didn't he just wait until Bucky wasn't paying attention? So many ways he could have done it differently. He shakes his head a little at himself. This isn't about the email and he knows it. This fight would’ve happened eventually. But maybe he didn’t have to make it happen so _soon_.

The door beeps and the locks slide back. Steve springs up as Bucky opens the door. They stand there looking at each other warily for a moment.

"I'm sorry," Steve blurts out. "Bucky, I'm so—"

"Stop, please," Bucky practically whispers. "I'm tired. I just want to go to bed."

Steve doesn't know what that means. Does he want Steve to leave? Steve could go home. But maybe Bucky wants him to move out. He can stay with Sam and Riley for a while. Kate's in his old room with Natasha and Clint, but none of them would mind if he crashed on the couch for a few days. The tight band in his chest comes back and presses down on him. He doesn't know how he can leave Bucky. He doesn’t want to.

Bucky kicks off his shoes and pulls his shirt off. Steve averts his eyes. He doesn't know how Bucky feels about him right now, but he probably shouldn't be ogling. Bucky takes off his pants and climbs into bed. Steve's still just standing there, feeling completely stupid and scared and on the verge of tears. He shouldn't be surprised he ruined everything so quickly.

"Are you coming to bed?" Bucky asks.

"With you?" Steve asks.

There's a pause. "Unless you want to go somewhere else."

"No!" Steve says. "I gotta—" He goes into the bathroom and takes out his contacts, rushes through going to the bathroom. When he comes back, Bucky's got his back to Steve's side of the bed. Steve's stomach drops a little, but he figures it's the least he deserves.

He climbs into bed and just lies there, staring at the ceiling. He keeps opening his mouth to say something and then stopping himself. Bucky said he just wants to sleep. And what's talking going to help? Steve will probably say something awful and make everything even worse.

He watches Bucky's back expand as he breathes. The scars don't shock him anymore, but they still make him sick with anger if he thinks about them too much. Someone did that to Bucky. Someone hurt him.

Bucky's shocked, pained face flashes through Steve's mind. _He_ hurt Bucky. He's done it more than once. He swallows hard against the lump in his throat. He hates that he even inadvertently implied that Bucky is lazy or whatever his words meant to Bucky. Steve's never once thought anything negative about Bucky using his parents' money. He hadn't wanted to take their money, Steve knows. That's how Steve even met him. And even if Bucky wasn’t bothered by it, what difference would that make? Steve’s glad Bucky has that option, has people who love him and _can_ provide for him.

Steve thinks about his own stubborn pride and how he'd feel if he felt like someone was accusing him of being a freeloader, how he feels whenever people talk about food allergies being made-up or anxiety pills being the easy way out. He burns with shame. He wants to apologize a million times. He wants to go back in time and stop himself from saying it.

"Buck," he whispers. Bucky's muscles all tense. "I'm sorry I'm stubborn and say the wrong thing all the time."

Bucky doesn't roll over to face him. "It feels like you're keeping a back-up plan," he finally says quietly. "In case you want to leave."

Steve closes his eyes for a second, both at what Bucky's saying and the raw pain in his voice. He never thought of how it might feel to Bucky, the way Steve always refuses their money, the way he always insists he pull his own weight. Bucky grew up so differently than Steve did; Steve doesn’t have practice accepting people’s money because he’s never really had anyone with money to give him. In Bucky’s family, they buy each other things to show love.

"I thought I was proving to you that I wasn't here for the money," Steve says, choked up. "I didn't want you to think I was using you."

Bucky huffs. "Oh, and that's it?"

"I...I don't like pity," Steve admits. Not like Bucky didn’t know that already. The first encounter they ever had was Steve throwing Bucky’s kindness back in his face because of how much he hates pity.

Bucky almost laughs, but it's a wet sound that tells Steve he's crying. "It's not pity when it's family, Steve. It feels like you don’t count us as family."

And that puts Steve over the edge, Bucky's tears and the thought of Bucky's family and the way they've welcomed Steve with open arms from day one.

"I'm not very good at family. It was only ever me and Ma and it was different and anyway, she's been gone a while now." Steve swipes at his running nose. "I'm sorry. Bucky, I didn't want to hurt you. I love you. I love your family. And you gotta know I think you're strong and amazing and—"

"Don't," Bucky all but begs. "I can't take this right now, Steve."

"Okay," Steve whispers. "Okay, I'm sorry."

He can hear Bucky breathing hard, sniffling, and he hates himself. He made Bucky feel this way on his _birthday_.

He rolls over miserably, unable to keep looking at Bucky's back as he takes hitched breaths and refuses to let Steve hear him cry. He wants to wrap his arms around Bucky and hold him close, but he doesn't think Bucky wants it. He wants to burrow into Bucky's chest, but he knows he doesn't deserve it.

He wants to ask Bucky if this is it, if this is the final straw, but he's afraid of the answer.

Steve's not sure how long he lies there staring at the ceiling. Bucky's breathing calms down, but Steve knows he isn't asleep. _I love you_ , Steve wants to repeat. _I'm sorry I'm so bad at showing it_.

Steve feels all stuffed up from crying. He thinks about not seeing Bucky again and starts to cry again. It's possible he's being a little dramatic. But it's the middle of the night and he ruined Bucky's birthday and he doesn't know how to make it right and he's terrified Bucky's going to leave.

Something touches him and he jumps a little. It's Bucky's hand. Steve cranes his neck a little. Bucky still has his back to Steve, but he's reaching around. He catches Steve's hand and grabs it, lacing their fingers together. It's not the most comfortable position, truth be told. They're facing away from each other and holding hands means they both have an arm twisted around behind them.

Steve doesn't care. He'll contort himself any way he has to for Bucky. He knows what Bucky's telling him. This isn't the end of the line. They're both mad and hurt but they're not throwing in the towel and Steve's not sure he's ever been this relieved or this grateful in his entire life.

Steve squeezes Bucky's fingers tentatively and almost starts to cry again when Bucky squeezes back. It's not like everything is fixed. In the morning they'll wake with gritty eyes and stumble through talking about it, neither of them good at that, and Bucky will cry again because he cries easily and Steve might get a little choked up because Bucky's crying and Bucky isn't leaving. They never will soak in the tub with the jets, but they'll lie with their foreheads pressed together and clear the air and kiss a hundred times and promise to communicate better in the future. Bucky will remind Steve that end of the line means he's not jumping ship when things get tough and Steve will remind Bucky of the same thing. Bucky will explain that fighting doesn’t mean the end of the relationship unless they want it to and Steve will remind him he doesn’t have much experience with that kind of relationship. They'll both apologize and forgive each other and even manage to laugh at themselves for being so dramatic.

For now, though, they lie there back to back, upset and unsure but holding hands and still together, and they sleep.


	16. You had a bad day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [cameronwolfe](http://cameronwolfe.tumblr.com) had a bad day today, so I had to write some ridiculous boys being ridiculously fluffy to make up for it. This takes place during the main fic, before Steve and Bucky are actually together-together.

“Oh, excuse me,” a dude says, two seconds too late as he careens into Bucky. Bucky flinches, whole body tensing, and the guy sort of shoves himself back upright and goes on his merry way. Bucky can’t breathe for a full second and has to dig his fingernails into his palms to keep himself focused.

He gets to his English class, the one he hates with a bunch of eighteen-year-olds who stare at him mistrustfully and a teacher with eyes full of pity, and there’s a girl sitting in his usual seat. Bucky’s not going to say anything to her, because that would be weird, but Jesus Christ. It’s been two months of everyone sitting in the same seats and suddenly this girl—Bucky can’t remember her name, even though they had to take a quiz on everyone’s names, a quiz he failed—is sitting in his spot? That’s just rude. It goes against the code or something.

After his English class, he sits in the quad with Bailey, who is sullen and quiet and maybe mad at him; he doesn’t know. She’s certainly mad at someone. Steve’s doodle cheers him up a little, until it starts to rain and a few fat drops blur Captain America’s face.

“Ugh, come _on_ ,” Bailey whines.

“What’s your problem?” Bucky asks, harsher than he probably should. Something’s been going on with Bailey for a while, and Bucky knows he should be patient but it’s just not happening today.

“Nothing,” Bailey snaps.

“Oh, yeah, nothing,” Bucky sneers. “What’s the point of us eating lunch together if you’re just going to sit there on your phone glaring at everyone?”

“Well, sorry I don’t have a husband drawing me dumb pictures every day to look forward to,” she says. “I have suffer through the day with no help.”

Bucky just raises his eyebrows. Really? “You got me, real fucking charmed life,” he mutters. “I’m going to class.”

“You’re like half an hour early,” she reminds him disdainfully. He flips her off and keeps walking. That might get him a slap across the hand if his mom caught him, even now. By the time he gets to class, the rain’s really coming down and his socks are soaked, his hair is soaked, and he can hardly breathe. Rain isn’t exactly great for his psyche.

Not much _is_ these days.

He gets to the right classroom and has to wait outside, because the class before his isn’t even out yet. He has to sit down against the wall in the hallway, tip his head against the wall and clench his teeth hard. He wants to close his eyes but he definitely can’t do that here, not without someone to watch his back for him.

The likelihood of someone jumping him in the hallway of the biology building is pretty slim, but Bucky’s a nutcase who can’t control his reactions. His head is throbbing from a full day of reading and writing and trying to hold himself together.

He’s just about to fly apart into a million pieces when his phone buzzes. Steve sent him a picture. His heart decides to start jumping around in his chest, like his body needs any more outlandish reactions here.

The picture is of the back of Steve’s head. Bucky doesn’t even notice anything weird at first, because he’s too caught up smiling fondly at the cowlick back there. But then he sees the splotches of green paint mixed through Steve’s blond hair.

_Paint yourself_? Bucky asks.

_Got my fingers and didn’t notice_ , Steve tells him with the eye-roll emoji. Bucky huffs. _How’s your day?_ Steve adds. Bucky blows out a breath.

_Not great_ , he admits.

Steve sends back a picture of himself frowning, all exaggerated to make Bucky laugh. It works, though it sends a little pang through his heart, too. God, he’s in love with the guy. He feels guilty about it, but there’s nothing he can do at this point. No use denying it.

The class before his biology class ends, students pouring out of the room like it’s on fire or something, and Bucky shoots to his feet, hunching against the wall a bit in an effort to keep from being touched by anyone. It doesn’t really work, but it’s better than being down on the ground and surrounded by moving bodies.

He gets through biology, squinting up at the PowerPoint on the screen and trying to reconcile the lecture with the notes he took from his reading. Nothing makes sense. His headache’s building, and now he gets to add guilt from how he snapped at Bailey to the mix. Class finally ends, and Bucky takes his time finishing up the last of his notes. His professor had noticed early on that he takes a little longer, and the guy leaves the last slide up as everyone leaves so Bucky has more time to take notes. He never said anything about it, just did it, and Bucky doesn’t know how to acknowledge it or thank his professor without crying.

He gathers up his notebook and his backpack and pulls out his phone. He doesn’t tell Bailey he’s sorry or anything—that’s not really how their family works—but he sends her a snapchat of the guy two rows back who falls asleep every class and she sends back a picture of the hole in the knee of her jeans, so the weight goes off his shoulders some.

He spends two hours in the library fighting with his biology reading before he has to admit defeat. He can hardly make out the words anymore, they’re so blurred, and the same group of grad students has passed his table three times now, circling like vultures. He knows he takes up more space than he deserves, but he can’t really help it. He has his notebook and the textbook and the printouts of the slides from the week’s lectures and a dictionary. He needs room.

But they keep staring at him, and walking by, and glaring, and Bucky’s head is throbbing, and his stomach hurts a little because he’s starting to get that _stupid stupid stupid_ pounding in the back of his skull, so he gathers up his things and trudges home. When he walks inside, all the lights are off, which would normally make him sigh in relief except the smoke detector is beeping shrilly and the whole place smells like fire.

“Steve?” Bucky yells, adrenaline racing through him as he drops his backpack.

“Sorry, sorry!” Steve calls back from the kitchen. Bucky can just see him from the corner of his eye waving a dishtowel at the oven. Bucky presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, telling himself to calm down.

“What happened?” He asks, proud of how steady his voice is. This is not the relaxing end to his day he was hoping for. He walks into the kitchen and sees what looks like every pot and pan they own spread across the counters.

“Um, well, okay,” Steve starts, looking harried. He has flour in his hair, and Bucky can still see the green splotches of paint in the back. “You had a bad day so I wanted to make you cookies.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “This is from you trying to make cookies?” He asks incredulously. “You’re not _that_ incompetent.”

Steve shoots a scowl over his shoulder. “I might’ve sort of…lost track of time,” he admits. “I was painting and…” He shrugs.

Bucky shakes his head and grabs a chair so he can get the smoke alarm to stop its incessant shrieking. The blessed quiet that fills the air immediately makes his shoulders loosen. He sighs a little and leans against the counter.

“Sorry,” Steve says miserably. “I wanted to have something good waiting for you.”

Crisis averted, Bucky takes stock of the kitchen. Steve losing track of time doesn’t explain why he pulled everything out of the drawers or why there was apparently a small flour explosion. Steve’s freckles are covered in splotches of it, a little dusting across his nose, and his hair looks extra white. The windows are open and the rain’s slanting sideways in the wind, getting in the screen and covering the windowsill in water. Steve’s standing there in the kitchen, a total mess, with a guilty hangdog look on his face, and Bucky feels laughter bubbling up in his throat.

He’s suddenly cracking up laughing, harder still when Steve puts his hands on his hips and _glares_ at him.

“You’re ridiculous,” Bucky gasps. “This is ridiculous.”

“Laugh it up,” Steve says, lips starting to tug upward. “I was trying to be _nice_.”

“I can see why you don’t do that often, if this is what happens,” Bucky teases. “Let’s stick to your asshole behavior, huh?”

Steve narrows his eyes. “Hey, Buck? How bad was your day? Flashback bad or just regular bad?”

“Uh, I think mostly just regular bad?” Bucky doesn’t know where Steve’s going with this.

“So if I threw a handful of flour in your face it wouldn’t be too terrible?” Steve checks.

Bucky scoffs. “You wouldn’t,” he dares, so he is 100% prepared for Steve doing just that. Good aim, too—it gets in his open mouth and makes him sputter. Steve laughs himself silly, and Bucky uses the advantage to lunge across the kitchen to grab the open bag of flour. He dumps the entire thing over Steve’s head. Steve, for his part, screams like he’s being murdered instead of just being showered in powder.

“That’s it!” Steve cries. He pulls the nozzle out of the sink and blasts Bucky’s chest with a jet of water. Bucky yelps—he doesn’t scream—and crashes into Steve. They fight over the nozzle for a while, effectively getting water everywhere and turning the flour into a wet, goopy mess.

“Truce!” Bucky surrenders, because he knows Steve never will. “Okay, okay, truce!”

Steve watches him distrustfully, but he lowers the nozzle. If Steve were one of his little sisters, Bucky would totally double-cross him, but Steve is Steve and Bucky doesn’t want to keep this battle up all night. Bucky shakes like a dog, sending water and flour flying everywhere, and Steve cracks up laughing again.

“Oh man,” Steve groans. “This was actually a really terrible idea.”

“Gee, you think?” Bucky says, grinning back at him. “This is going to be impossible to clean.”

“We could just save it for tomorrow,” Steve suggests. He doesn’t even finish the sentence before Bucky is giving him his best death-glare. The worst part is Steve actually would if he thought Bucky would let him get away with it.

“We’re doing this now,” Bucky says.

“Fine,” Steve sighs. “But you should eat dinner first. This is going to take a while.”

Bucky obliges, because it’s a smart idea. He ends up very glad he did, since it takes them two hours clean up the mess. It probably wouldn’t take so long if they didn’t spend a solid twenty minutes sliding around on the floor, testing out the slippery floor. And then they take turns showering—Bucky avoids thinking about saving time and water and doing it together—and climb into bed.

“Sorry,” Steve says again, wincing. “That was a big headache.”

Bucky huffs. “You’re a big headache,” he says. But his headache is actually gone, and the set of his shoulders is pretty loose, considering. “It was fun,” he says. He doesn’t want Steve to beat himself up over this. Bucky’s not even lying—it _was_ fun. It was stupid and messy and they both had a blast.

“It was pretty fun,” Steve agrees. Bucky can hear the smile in his voice. He snuggles closer to Steve and buries his head in Steve’s hair the way he’s only allowed to do at night when they cuddle up close.

He ends up coughing up some flour, because Steve apparently needs a lesson in washing behind his ears. He gets indignant when Bucky calls him on it, and they end up laughing some more and shoving at each other enough that Steve almost falls out of the bed, and Bucky thinks the night turned out alright after all.


	17. never lived the dream of the prom kings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gasp! An update?? It is true. Biiig warning for discussions of past bullying in this chapter. Also homophobia and slurs.

“Steve, you got a message!” Bucky calls from the living room. Steve’s painting in his studio—his old bedroom—so he has to blink a few times to get out of his reverie and process what he’s hearing.

“What kind?” He yells back. Work would email him, but Bucky saying _message_ doesn’t mean it isn’t an email. Bucky still sometimes misses little differences in words like that, and they mean the same thing anyway.

“Facebook!” Bucky sounds kind of smug, like he knew Steve was doubting him, and it makes Steve laugh.

“Who’s it from?” Maybe, Steve thinks, the mature and adult thing would be to stop shouting through their apartment and just go out to the living room to see for himself. But he doesn’t see the point when it doesn’t annoy Bucky. The last four years together have included a lot of yelling through the apartment, and it’s rarely because they’re arguing.

“Uh…Nancy McClellan?” Bucky says, and Steve almost gasps. “I can only see the first line and all she says is _hi Steve, it’s been a long_ …probably time.” Bucky’s in the doorway now, and he pauses when he sees Steve’s face. “Whoa. Who is she?”

“Girl I knew in high school.”

Bucky tenses. “Was she nice to you?”

Steve sighs. “Buck, not everyone was an asshole.”

“But was she?”

Steve shrugs and Bucky’s eyes narrow. “Okay,” Steve admits. “She wasn’t…always the nicest to me. She, um.” He cringes at the memory that just sprang into his mind. It’s lost its sting, or at least most of it, but it’s kind of embarrassing.

There’s no reason to be embarrassed with Bucky, though. But Steve does know the story’s going to make Bucky incredibly unhappy. Bucky’s face is already tight.

“She what?” He asks.

“She asked me to sit with her at lunch one time in tenth grade and when I sat down there was, uh…” Steve pulls up a laugh. “They’d left a puddle of water or juice or something on the seat. And then they told everyone I peed my pants.”

It’s kind of funny, objectively. Just dumb kid stuff that’s a little silly. Except Steve can still hear everyone laughing at him, can still feel the hot rush of blood to his face and the thick lump rising in his throat, and it still doesn’t feel very funny.

Bucky doesn’t think so either, apparently. “Fucking _assholes_ ,” he hisses. “What the fuck does this girl want?” Luna comes sniffing in, leaning against Bucky’s leg warily and giving Steve a look like it’s _his_ fault Bucky’s getting riled up. Steve shrugs at her. He tried to laugh it off. Not his fault if Bucky cares so much.

Not that he doesn’t appreciate it. Bucky’s reaction reminds Steve that he’s here now; he’s an adult with an amazing job and an incredible husband. He has _friends_. A lot of them! He’s got a whole network of people who think his art is incredible. He’s kind of _rich_ now. He doesn’t have to care about those kids anymore.

Even if a small part of him can’t quite get over it.

Steve takes the computer and opens the message. Bucky reads over his shoulder and grabs his waist when Steve’s shoulders slump.

“Ten year reunion,” Steve says. He huffs. “I’m not going to that.”

“You sure?” Bucky asks, pulling back a little to look at Steve’s face. “I mean, I get why you don’t want to. But you’re a billion times better than any of those little fuckwads. You don’t want to show them?”

Steve shrugs and can’t exactly explain the way his shoulders are drawing up to his ears. He doesn’t want to walk back into that school. He doesn’t want to see Gilmore Hodge even to show off. He doesn’t want to see the lockers that the boys on the basketball team used to slam him against. He doesn’t want to see the trash cans they tried to drop him into. He doesn’t even want to see the trophy case with his ribbon for the all-state art contest.

“I don’t want to go,” is all he says. Bucky searches his eyes for another minute, and then he just nods. He leans forward and gives Steve a soft little kiss.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “The best revenge is good living anyway.”

They drop it, and Steve tries to put it out of his mind. He thinks that’s the end of it.

 

Steve’s avoiding looking at the newest changes he’s supposed to be making to this week’s pages by scrolling Facebook. So this time _he_ gets the message. It’s from his high school art teacher, and as much as he loves her, he still tenses up a bit. Reminders of high school do that to him.

_Hi Steve! I hope you’re well. I’ve been reading along with your comics and just love them. I’m so proud of you! Are you coming to the reunion? The organizers asked me to be there and it’d be a real treat to see you again._

Steve sighs and puts his hands over his face. Ms. Newsome was Steve’s favorite teacher, of course, and she’d been one of his only friends in the school. She’d let him come into her classroom during lunch and hang out there, and sometimes she let him sneak some extra charcoals. She’d gotten him out of trouble more than once by going to bat for him with the principal after he’d been fighting.

He’d love to see her. In a way, he owes his entire career to her—she’d always encouraged him and never once told him art wasn’t a real job. She’d found him scholarship after scholarship to apply to and wrote him the letter of recommendation that got him into school.

But he doesn’t want to go back.

“What’s that?” Bucky asks, making Steve jump and shriek a little. He hadn’t even heard Bucky come home. “Jeez!” Bucky says. “You’re jumpy.”

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Steve tells him, pressing a hand to his thundering heart.

“Sorry,” Bucky says, dropping a kiss to the top of Steve’s head. “Who’s Anita Newsome?”

“My high school art teacher.”

“Ohhh. She wants you to go the reunion.” Bucky has to be guessing. There’s no way he read the message that fast while also talking and kissing Steve.

“Yeah,” Steve admits. “And I don’t want to let her down. I owe her.”

Bucky bites his lip, then comes around to sit beside Steve on the couch. He takes Steve’s computer and sets it on the coffee table so he can take both of Steve’s hands in his own.

“Steve, I’m sure she was inspirational and great and all that. But you don’t owe anyone a damn thing, okay? You don’t have to go if it’s just going to make you miserable.”

Steve pitches forward so he can bury his face in Bucky’s chest. “I shouldn’t care so much what happened a decade ago.”

Bucky rubs his hand up and down Steve’s back. “You know that ain’t true. Those kids were _awful_ to you. I’m working on that time machine with Stark so I can go back and be your pal and fight them all.”

Steve snorts. “What about the Prime Directive?”

“You think I wouldn’t break the law for you?” Bucky asks, incredulous. “Please.”

Steve laughs. “Thanks, Buck. I’d break the law for you, too.”

“Gee, you’re the type of guy who _always_ follows the rules. I must be so special,” Bucky says sarcastically.

“Hey, I don’t believe in breaking laws for no reason just because you don’t like them!” He defends himself. Bucky grins and pulls Steve back in against his chest.

“I know, I know, please don’t give me the civil disobedience spiel again.” They’re quiet for a minute, Steve just breathing Bucky in, and then Bucky jostles him a little. “Listen. I know you feel like you should be over all that. But you don’t get to pick your recovery timeline.”

Steve scoffs. “I’m in recovery from bullies?”

“Yeah, Steve,” Bucky says gently. “You are.” Steve has to blink a few times, because his throat’s getting thick. He’s touched on this a bit with his therapist, but he mostly sticks to his mother and his health problems and his anxiety. That fact that he doesn’t even want to talk about high school bullies should probably have told him something.

“Seems kinda—”

“You better not disparage your feelings right now,” Bucky cuts him off. Steve swears Sam wrote out a bunch of buzzwords for Bucky to use that would immediately shut Steve up. Or, more likely, Bucky’s just better at listening to his own therapist.

“Those kids…” Steve starts. “The other kids at school were really, really horrible.”

“Yeah, they fucking were.”

“And they…hurt me.” A little shudder goes through him. “Bucky, they hurt me all the time. Even when they weren’t hitting me.”

“I know they did.” Bucky’s voice is sounding thicker than Steve’s, and sure enough, when Steve glances up he sees tears in Bucky’s eyes. It makes Steve feel soft and fond.

“Ah, Buck,” he says.

“I just got something in my eye,” Bucky protests. “’m not crying.” Steve laughs and leans up to kiss Bucky.

“I promise I will talk about this with my therapist,” he says quietly. “And I will…think about the reunion.”

“Okay,” Bucky says. “Just tell me what you decide and where to be that day.” They snuggle down for a while, even though Steve knows Bucky’s got homework he’ll be itching to get to.

“I guess it would be nice to show off my hot husband,” Steve muses.

“Wait a second, _I’m_ the trophy husband in this marriage?” Bucky says. “Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have studied so hard for chemistry.”

“Oh, no, I’m definitely the trophy husband who doesn’t have to work,” Steve shoots back. “Your mom _hired_ me to be your trophy husband!”

“Damnit,” Bucky laughs. “You got me there. Ugh, fine, I’ll finish college.”

“That’s right,” Steve preens dramatically. “I’m accustomed to a certain manner of living.”

“Gross, I ain’t growing mold on our walls.”

Steve laughs, but he gets his revenge by smacking Bucky with one of the few remaining throw pillows.

 

“Are you sure?” Bucky asks for about the fortieth time that day. “We could play hooky and go to the beach.”

“Now there’s a real draw for me,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. He squeezes Bucky’s hand. “I’m sure. You sure you’re gonna be okay in there?”

They’re standing outside a restaurant. Apparently all Steve’s worries about seeing the old halls full of bad memories were for nothing—they couldn’t even have their reunion at the school. But it’s going to be a crowd of people Bucky doesn’t know, which isn’t exactly his favorite thing in the world.

“Hey, I’m going to be cool as a cucumber in there. I just have to stand there and look pretty and I’m gonna do it perfectly. Today’s _your_ day to have a breakdown. But then I get tomorrow. We can work the rest of the week's schedule out later.”

“Boy, I just got the sweetest guy,” Steve jokes. He takes a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“Okay,” Bucky repeats grimly. They both have battle faces on. Even Luna looks ready for action. Bucky opens the door and they walk in. They have to get their nametags from a table in the front. Steve’s half-expecting his to be spelled wrong or to have a crude drawing on it or something. But it’s just sitting there innocuously, _Steve Rogers_. Bucky has to write his, and Steve notices he writes _James Rogers_. Steve shoots him a questioning look, because neither of them have even mentioned changing their last name. Bucky shrugs.

“Just making sure they all know I’m for sure married to you.”

Well, Steve’s not made of _stone_. He might melt a little at that, and he goes up to his tip toes to give Bucky a kiss. And maybe he’s still feeling a bit nervous, because he clings to Bucky tighter than usual.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Bucky whispers in his ear. “I’m here to knock anyone’s teeth in if they look at you wrong, and then we’ll go get nut ice cream.”

Steve laughs helplessly against Bucky and tries to keep himself from sounding too hysterical. “I really love you, you know.”

“I did know, but thanks for reaffirming it.” Bucky gives him a saucy little wink. “I love you too.”

Steve knows Bucky’s game plan is to keep him laughing and loose. And Steve can see a bit of strain on Bucky to stay goofy in an enclosed space with a bunch of people he doesn’t know. It actually works to make Steve relax a little bit. If he’s tense, Bucky’s going to work harder to relax him, and that’ll make Bucky tenser.

“I’m ready now,” Steve tells him, managing an actual smile. He really is. Maybe he’s still not over everything his classmates put him through. But with Bucky at his side, he’s ready to face it.

The first person they come to is Eric Mack, who was not an asshole. Steve lets go of Bucky’s hand so Bucky will know this isn’t someone he needs to posture for.

“Hey, Eric! How are you?”

Eric turns and starts a little when he sees Steve. “Steve, wow! It’s so good to see you. You look great!”

“Thanks,” Steve says. “This is my husband, Bucky.”

Eric shakes Bucky’s hand, but he keeps staring at Steve like he’s an alien or something. They make small talk about Eric’s wife and new baby who couldn’t come, and then Eric says,

“I’m sorry, I hope this doesn’t sound weird, but Steve…you really do look great.”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” Steve says, feeling a little confused.

“I mean, you look so…healthy. You look strong.”

“He’s a boxer,” Bucky says proudly, and Eric’s eyes almost bug out of his head.

“Boxing? Seriously? That’s incredible.”

Steve ducks his head, blushing. “Yeah, well, taking care of yourself does wonders, I guess.”

“I guess so. So you don’t get sick anymore?”

“Oh, no, I still do,” Steve says, reminding himself not to get annoyed. Eric’s not trying to make Steve feel bad. He’s just one of those guys who doesn’t know anything about chronic illness and thinks if Steve went vegan or bought a special mattress he’d be fine.

“Well, you definitely look great. Sorry, I keep saying that. It’s just such a change.”

Bucky makes a little noise in the back of his throat that means he’s not entirely happy with that assessment but Steve shares a look with him. Bucky rolls his eyes a little and Steve feels good again. Okay, so Eric’s a bit insensitive and is implying Steve didn’t look good before. Whatever.

“Sorry, I just meant…you look really happy,” Eric clarifies, smiling, and Steve doesn’t fight the grin that takes over his face.

“I am,” he says simply, and he and Bucky have to take a second to smile sappily at each other.

“Aw, man, I gotta go call my wife,” Eric says, laughing a little. “Jordan and Lizzy are over at the bar. But Adam didn’t come.”

Steve nods. “I almost didn’t.”

“Yeah, I get that. I’m glad you did, though. Nice to meet you,” Eric adds, nodding to Bucky.

“Okay, that was good,” Bucky says encouragingly. “Want to head over to the bar to see those other people?”

“Uh, I don’t know.”

“What? It sounded like they were all your crew or something.”

“Yeah, but I sort of dated Jordan _and_ Lizzy.”

Bucky cracks up laughing. “You dog. Is Jordan your first kiss? With the braces?”

Steve groans. “Yeah, that’s him.” Bucky’s losing it, laughing so hard Luna’s shoving her nose into his hand to check on him. Steve’s first kiss had not gone well—Jordan’s braces caught on Steve’s lip and split it. Luckily, Steve was well used to split lips by then, but he and Jordan had pretty much fizzled out shortly thereafter.

“Wait, so then who’s Lizzy?”

Steve shakes his head. “I never kissed her. I took her on a few dates and tried to hold her hand at the movies. She didn’t want to hold my hand and then we stopped going on dates.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Her loss.”

Steve laughs. Unlike the cafeteria story with Nancy, he’s definitely gotten over Lizzy not wanting to hold his hand. Especially when she came out a few years later; he figured it was nothing _too_ personal.

“She’s a lesbian, Buck.”

Bucky’s mouth pops open into an _O_. “You were her experiment man!” He’s laughing again, and Steve rolls his eyes even though he’s holding back chuckles himself. “And lemme guess, you’re glad you could help her out.”

Steve shrugs, caught. “Well, yeah, I mean, if she needed me to understand her sexuality…”

“I need you to understand my sexuality,” Bucky shoots off quickly. Then he shakes his head. “Doesn’t completely make sense but you know what I mean.”

Steve snorts. “Such a charmer.”

“You’re a better experiment than Clara was, I guess. She was _not_ happy to help.”

“To be fair, you dated her two years even though you knew you were gay,” Steve points out as they head over to Jordan and Lizzy. Jordan’s hair is as red as Steve remembers.

“I know,” Bucky says, chagrined. “And I’d already kissed Toro by then.”

“Meanie.”

“Steve Rogers?” Lizzy asks incredulously. “Wow. You look incredible!”

“You know, people keep saying that. I’m gonna get a complex,” Steve says.

“You just look so…” Lizzy shrugs.

“Healthy,” Jordan chimes in.

“Oh, yeah, I’m the real epitome of health,” Steve jokes.

“He only got pneumonia once last year,” Bucky adds proudly. Steve gives him a dirty look and Bucky answers with a cheeky grin.

Steve catches up with Jordan and Lizzy for a while with Bucky hanging back. Steve keeps glancing over at him, trying to gauge if Bucky’s okay or if he needs to go outside and take a breather, but Bucky just raises his eyebrows and smiles every time Steve checks on him.

“I’m gonna go to the restroom,” Bucky excuses himself.

“Want me to come?” Steve asks lowly. Bucky puts his hand on Steve’s back and winks.

“We’ll save that for home.” Steve rolls his eyes but laughs at Bucky, accepting Luna’s hand-lick before they leave.

“Steve, he is _gorgeous_ ,” Jordan gushes after Bucky leaves. Steve can’t help it—he puffs up a bit.

“Yeah, he is,” he agrees. He shakes his head. “And you know what else? He’s smart and funny and he’s the nicest guy in the world.”

“Does he have a twin?” Jordan jokes.

“Sorry,” Steve says, smiling wickedly. “Only one Bucky Barnes in the whole world, and I got him.”

He’s probably smugger than is strictly polite, but he doesn’t care.

He’s talking comics with Lizzy, Jordan having floated away to talk to some of the other kids from the tennis team, when he realizes suddenly that Bucky’s been gone a while. Steve’s heart picks up a bit. Luna should have no trouble finding him again, even if Bucky can’t. He starts glancing around, and Lizzy notices. She tilts her head, but she’s cringing.

“He’s over there,” she says. Steve turns and his heart drops when he sees who Bucky’s talking to.

Gilmore Hodge.

Steve’s legs go rubbery for a second. He can’t believe his reaction to his old tormentor is still this strong. It’s been ten years! But his hands are starting to sweat.

“Don’t worry,” Lizzy says. “It’s not like he can do anything to you here.”

_Sure, but tell my body that_ , Steve thinks wryly. “I’m gonna go over there,” he says.

Lizzy purses her lips. “Good luck. I’m not getting within 10 feet of that asshole. You know he still tries to send me dick pics on Facebook?”

“Jesus,” Steve commiserates. “At least I didn’t have to worry about that.”

He squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath before heading over. Bucky, of course, knows who Gilmore Hodge is. Steve’s talked about him more than once. And from the strength of Bucky’s Murder Face, he’s taking it personally. Luna’s on high alert at Bucky’s side, and Steve’s pretty sure she’s the only thing keeping Bucky from kicking Hodge’s ass right there.

“—heard all about you,” Hodge’s saying as Steve walks up. “You’re a real hero.”

Now Bucky’s glaring even harder, because he _hates_ when people he doesn’t even know try to talk about his time in the Army.

“I did what I had to,” he says.

“Still! You must get so much tail.”

Steve can feel his lip curling. Of course Gilmore Hodge would think Bucky joined the Army to impress people. And of course he’d think Bucky would use his time as a POW as a _pick-up line_. Steve hates Gilmore Hodge so much he’s almost shaking.

“I do,” Bucky agrees, shocking Steve. Bucky turns to him and puts an arm around his waist. “From this guy right here. All I could ever want.”

Steve’s cheeks flame up. Hodge gives him a once-over and then his eyes widen when he sees Steve’s nametag.

“Little Stevie Rogers?” He says. Steve grits his teeth. He hates that nickname.

“My husband,” Bucky tells him.

“I didn’t know gay guys could be…” Hodge trails off and Bucky’s hand tightens on Luna’s leash for a second.

“Oh, yeah, you know, they got rid of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell and now it’s just the gays everywhere,” Bucky says with a shrug. “Any time we’re not shooting down fighter jets it’s just one big orgy.”

“Buck,” Steve coughs out, trying not to laugh. Hodge’s getting more and more horrified with every word.

“Jesus fuck,” Hodge mutters, face turning red.

“You’d be surprised how many of your favorite war heroes love sucking cock,” Bucky says, and then Steve can’t help the burst of laughter that he lets loose.

“You _would_ end up with someone like that, Rogers,” Hodge spits as he turns away. “Fucking fags.”

“Excuse me?” Steve says, unable to let that slide. “Five seconds ago you were practically kissing the ground at his feet. Now you find out he’s gay and you’re disgusted?”

“You wanna be gay or whatever, fine, but you don’t gotta throw it in my face,” Hodge says.

“You think us _existing_ is throwing it in your face,” Steve shoots back hotly. “You’ve always been—”

“You wanna end up in a trash can again, Rogers?” Hodge sneers. Then he falters when Bucky steps up close, whole body taut with anger.

“He could kick your ass three ways to Sunday,” Bucky promises. “And if he doesn't want to, _I_ sure as hell do.”

“Oh, how shocking,” a woman’s voice cuts through their argument. “Steve Rogers is starting a fight.”

It’s Nancy. God, Steve shouldn’t have come. He wants to grab Bucky and Luna and run home.

“Steve ain’t starting shit,” Bucky protests, flesh hand starting to shake a little with emotion. “This asshole is.”

Nancy’s eyes travel up Bucky’s body in a way that makes Steve want to throttle her. Then she glances at Hodge. “Ugh, Gilmore, really? Is your penis _still_ so small you feel the need to go around showing off how tough you are?”

And to that, Hodge has no response. He slinks away, glaring and muttering, and Steve has to hand it to Nancy—that was quite the statement.

"Well, hello there,” Nancy says, losing all of Steve’s good will when she extends her hand to Bucky with a flirtatious smile. “I’m Nancy McClellan.”

Bucky doesn’t give her his hand to shake. “I know who you are.”

Nancy’s lips tighten and she glances at Steve. “Right. Yes. I guess if you’re friends with Steve you would.”

“He’s married to me,” Steve corrects, trying not to sound too triumphant. From Bucky’s smirk, he thinks he probably did not succeed.

“Oh,” Nancy says. “Married. Wow. So you’re gay after all?”

Bucky groans. “Wow.”

“No, I’m still bi,” Steve says evenly. “Just married to a man.”

“Sorry,” Nancy says, and she actually sounds like she means it. “I don’t really know much about…all that.”

There’s an awkward beat where no one says anything. Bucky casts a look at Steve and Steve shrugs, no clue what to say or do.

“Your dog is really cute,” Nancy says.

“You can’t pet her; she’s a service dog,” Steve tells her quickly as she starts to kneel down. He might’ve been sharper than he needed to be, and he feels a little bad about it.

“Oh.” Nancy bites her lip and straightens back up. There’s another long pause. “Listen, Steve, I know I wasn’t very nice to you in high school, and I’m sorry.”

“Um…okay,” Steve says, caught completely off guard.

“I was really worried you weren’t going to come. I know we all sort of…treated you pretty bad. And you were still nice to us.” She turns to Bucky. “He saved me from a guy who wouldn’t leave me alone in the hallway one time. After I was so mean to him!”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, reaching for Steve’s hand. “That’s who he is.” He gives Steve’s hand a squeeze. Steve feels…confused. And kind of numb. She’s apologizing. That should give him closure, shouldn’t it? Shouldn’t he feel better? Happy? He doesn’t really feel anything.

“Anyway, I’m just, uh, I’m glad you came. And I’m really sorry.”

“Thanks,” Steve manages to say, and Nancy heads off, leaving Steve and Bucky alone in the corner of the room. Steve sags, resting against Bucky.

“You want to go?” Bucky asks, running his fingers through Steve’s hair.

“I gotta find Ms. Newsome,” Steve says. “I only came to see her.”

“Okay,” Bucky says. “You want to find her now and bounce?”

Steve huffs. “Bounce? I can tell you were with Beth all day yesterday.”

Bucky laughs. “She keeps me young and hip.” He’s still got his fingers in Steve’s hair and it’s soothing. He’s got the glove on, so Steve can’t feel the cool metal of his left hand. He wishes he could. It would mean they were somewhere comfortable.

“Alright,” Steve sighs, pulling himself upright again. “Let’s find Ms. Newsome so we can bounce.”

Bucky pokes him. “Don’t you make fun of me.”

It’s not too hard to find her once Steve starts looking. She’s nearly six feet tall and she’s still got that afro Steve remembers.

“Hi, Ms. Newsome,” he says, actually kind of nervous. He wanted to impress everyone here so they felt badly about bullying him, but he wants to impress her because he wants her to be proud of him.

“Steve!” She cries, springing up out of her seat. She wraps Steve in a hug and Steve can’t help but laugh a little. “Oh, I’m so glad you came. Please sit down with me.”

“Thanks,” he says. “Um, this is my husband, Bucky.”

“Bucky,” Ms. Newsome says, taking his hand in both of hers. “I’ve seen your pictures on Steve’s Facebook. Lovely to meet you.”

“You too,” Bucky says, giving her a charming smile he usually reserves for women over the age of fifty. “Steve’s told me a lot about you.”

“Better be good,” she threatens, raising her eyebrows at Steve.

“All good,” Bucky promises.

“What bad could I say?” Steve asks. “I owe you my career.”

“That’s not true at all,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You owe yourself your career. Some luck for the opportunity, sure, but your hard work and your talent got you there.”

Steve’s face is burning up with a blush. “Uh, thanks.”

“Alright, so I don’t know much about art,” Bucky confides. “But tell me—does Steve focus an awful lot of artistic detail on my face in those comics or what?”

Ms. Newsome bursts out laughing. “I must admit, I noticed that too.”

“See!” Bucky cries out triumphantly.

“It’s not _you_ ,” Steve protests. “It’s the Winter Soldier.”

“Who just happens to look exactly like you,” Ms. Newsome adds, amused.

“Et tu, Brute?” Steve asks. Ms. Newsome laughs.

“Oh, Steve, I’m so glad you’re doing well. When I heard about your mother I was so worried about you.”

“Things got pretty bad for a while,” Steve admits quietly, looking down at the table. Bucky puts his hand on Steve’s leg.

“But they’re good now?” Ms. Newsome checks.

“They’re great now,” Steve promises.

“Good,” she says firmly. “You deserve it more than any other student I’ve taught. Don’t go spreading this around, but you’ve always been my favorite.”

Steve shakes his head, able to look up now. “I’m sure you say that to everyone.”

“Of course I don’t,” she scolds. “You really always have been.”

“Oh,” Steve says, pride filling him up. “Well, thanks. You’re my favorite teacher I ever had, too.”

“And yet you never once got me a best teacher mug. Hmm.”

Steve barks out a laugh. “I’ll fix that ASAP, I promise.”

“Well, it doesn’t mean as much now that I had to tell you.”

When Steve and Bucky leave, after nearly two hours of talking with Ms. Newsome, Steve feels a bit lighter. Every now and then people would come over to talk to Ms. Newsome and they’d always give Steve a double-take. Steve’s choosing to believe it’s because he’s a famous comic book artist and not because they were shocked he showed up.

“That wasn’t so bad, right?” Bucky checks on the train. They’re leaning against each other, both pretty worn out from socializing with mostly strangers for so long.

“Nah, not so bad,” Steve agrees. “The end was great.”

“I like Ms. Newsome,” Bucky announces. “I’m glad you had her.”

“Me too.”

“You still up for ice cream?” Bucky asks. “Or _fro-yo_ , I guess.” He’s definitely mocking Steve just because Steve likes to call that.

“I’d love fro-yo,” Steve says serenely, not bothered in the slightest by Bucky’s teasing. Bucky leans down to check on Luna and give her a treat from his backpack.

“You gonna hang in for a little longer?” He asks her. “We won’t be long, promise.” She licks his face and Steve assumes that means she’s agreeing to the situation.

Of course, they walk into their favorite fro-yo place and all their friends are waiting—Sam, Riley, Clint, Natasha, all the Howling Commandos. Even Thor and his group are staking a claim at the toppings bar. Sam waves when he sees them, and Steve can see on his face he’s barely containing himself from rushing over to check in with Steve and probably give him a hug. He’d always promised to hug Steve if he ever decided to go back to his high school, because he knew Steve would need it. Steve will take that hug gladly.

“Buck,” Steve says, floored. “You invited them all?”

Bucky shrugs. “Figured you might need some reminding about how great you are,” he says softly. “Those kids were all idiots. You got smarter people now who love you.”

Steve’s got a lot of emotions swirling around after the day he’s had. He’s almost overwhelmed by them. He needs time to process. But one he’s not confused about in the slightest is his love for Bucky.

“You always know just what I need,” he murmurs, coming in close and sliding his arms around Bucky.

“Oh, I just got lucky,” Bucky argues. Steve shakes his head against Bucky’s warm shoulder. Bucky’s hand is on Steve’s back, strong and steadying. Half the room is taken up with Steve’s friends who are waiting to fill him up with happiness and love and camaraderie. Becca gave them strict instructions to call in case she needs to do some late-night house egging, and they’re having dinner with George and Winifred tomorrow.

“No,” Steve says, squeezing Bucky tight and smiling over his shoulder at his friends. “Really, Bucky, I did.”


	18. won't let nobody sting me but you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon asked for Steve having an allergic reaction and this is probably not what they meant but here we are. I did some cursory research but I didn't find much about how it actually _feels_ so please forgive any inaccuracies.

“Did you already put on sunscreen?” Bucky calls from the bathroom. “I’m putting it in the bag but you should put some on before we get there.”

Steve rolls his eyes, since Bucky can’t see him. Luna gives him a dirty look and he rolls his eyes at her, too. “Yes, dearest, I put it on,” Steve promises in an overly-sweet voice that makes Bucky snort.

“Excuuuuuse me,” Bucky huffs, but Steve can tell he’s laughing. “Where’s your inhaler? It’s not in here.”

“It’s, uh…” Steve finishes tying his shoes and casts around. “Oh, I bet it’s in the fridge.”

Bucky pokes his head out of the bathroom specifically so Steve can see the look on his face. “The fridge?”

Steve laughs. “I was holding it while I was putting the milk away!” He opens the fridge door. “Yep, found it.” It’s on top of a week-old takeout carton. Steve wrinkles his nose and pulls out both, stuffing the leftovers in the trash. Bucky’s such a neat freak he usually keeps track of that kind of stuff, but he’s taking a summer class along with working full-time for Stark, so he’s not quite up to his usual standards. Steve’s abandoned dirty socks have been under the couch for two days. He _will_ pick them up so Bucky doesn’t have to. Just as soon as he remembers to do it while he’s in the living room.

“What am I gonna do with you?” Bucky asks fondly.

“Always check the fridge if you’re missing something.”

“Guess so.” Bucky hauls the backpack of Steve’s necessities into the living room and starts cooing at Luna, rubbing her ears. “There’s gonna be lots of kids who want to love on you. Yeah, they’re gonna try to pet you all day long. You gonna be good and stay with me instead?”

Luna’s wagging her tail and giving Bucky her all her little doggy affection. Steve doesn’t even care that she still hasn’t quite warmed up to him after six months—she adores Bucky, and she takes care of Bucky, and that’s what matters. Really. Steve doesn’t mind at all that she still tends to stand between Steve and Bucky. It’s completely fine with him.

They get on the train and of course there’s nowhere to sit. Good thing it’s spring and not cold—Steve’s bones always ache in the winter. But he can handle standing for four stops. Bucky looks over at the disability seats, but he apparently knows what’s good for him and keeps his mouth shut.

When they get to the park, there’s a huge mass of people. “That’s us,” Bucky sighs, as if the matching shirts didn’t tip Steve off. Winifred sees them and Steve and Bucky are both cringing even before she starts the patented arm-wave.

“Yeah, not so funny anymore, huh?” Bucky says. Steve elbows him.

“Hurry up, the only way to make her stop is to get over there.”

They accept hugs and kisses and plates already full of food. Steve knows about a quarter of the people there, at most. Bucky’s family is so huge—this is just George’s family, all eight siblings and their kids and spouses and _their_ kids. This is Steve’s first Barnes Family Reunion, even though he’s been with Bucky for two years. A lot of these people were at their wedding, but Steve wasn’t necessarily paying attention.

No one from Bucky’s immediate family went to the reunion last year because Winifred’s Aunt Tabby died, and Steve and Bucky didn’t go to the funeral because Bucky couldn’t handle a plane or a car ride that long. Bucky still feels guilty about it and probably will until he dies, especially since he went clear to Florida to get Luna.

Luckily, Kay and Ann are there, plus Bucky’s sisters and parents, so Steve doesn’t feel _too_ out of place and awkward. Unluckily, Edgar is also there, but Steve thinks there are probably enough people here that they can avoid him.

“You must be Steve!” Some unidentified woman comes over and puts her arm around Steve’s shoulders while he’s trying to cut into his chicken with a plastic fork.

“Um, yes,” he admits. “I’m Steve.”

“I’m Bucky’s aunt, Agatha,” she says. Agatha. Married to George’s oldest brother, Bill, who died in Vietnam and left behind his wife and two kids. Agatha never got remarried. Now Steve’s just sad.

“Oh, hi,” he says, starting to twist around to actually face her.

“No, no, you keep eating,” she commands. “Looks like you could use it.” She winks and Steve holds in a sigh. He really does not want to deal with Bucky’s entire family commenting on how skinny he is all day. Then Agatha looks across the table at Beth. “You, not so much. You’re getting all bulky, girl. Didn’t your mama ever tell you boys don’t like girls who’re stronger than they are?”

“Nope,” Beth says easily. “Because she knows I don’t give a shit.”

“Bethany!” Agatha says, scandalized, while Bucky cracks up laughing and Steve toasts Beth with their cups of punch, in her case, and water, in his. “I’m sure your mother would love to hear about this,” Agatha mutters, flitting off.

“I’m so happy you said that,” Bucky says, still laughing. “Rude old bat.”

“How many people are going to call me skinny today?” Steve complains.

“Not as many as will call me fat,” Beth says.

“You’re not fat!” Bucky insists.

“Technically, she didn’t call you fat,” Steve points out. “She called you buff.”

“Well, yeah, whatever.” Beth flaps a hand around. “Want to make a bet? I bet more people say shit to me than you.”

Steve narrows his eyes. “I don’t know if that’s fair. They don’t know me and might want to be polite.”

“Are you scared?” Beth taunts, smirking. It took no time at all for Bucky’s sisters to realize they could get Steve to do just about anything if they dared him. Steve grinds his teeth. He _knows_ he’s being played. Doesn’t mean he can stop himself.

“Fine,” he says, holding out his hand to shake. Beth does, totally laughing at him, and Steve rolls his eyes.

“Incoming,” Bucky says under his breath. Winifred stands behind Steve and puts her hands on her hips.

“What happened with Agatha? You know I want to spend as little time talking to her as possible so why did she just come over like you kicked her dog?”

“She said I was getting bulky,” Beth says, apparently without a care in the world if the way she’s still going to town on her piece of cake is anything to go off.

“Ugh,” Winifred comments. “That woman is the worst.”

Bucky pretends to be scandalized. “Mother,” he says. “She is our family.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Winifred says, making them all laugh. “Where’s Becca and Mark and the kids?”

“Jamie ate two bites and took off,” Bucky says. “That’s all I know.”

“Check the playground,” Beth suggests. “Bailey and the girl cousins had Ella last.”

“I swear, I need to put trackers in all of you,” Winifred mutters. “They grow up and you think you’re free, but oh no. Then it gets worse.”

“Do you need a response to this?” Bucky asks, bored.

“No,” Winifred confirms, stealing a grape off his plate and walking away.

“Better keep eating,” Bucky warns Beth. “If you look done you’ll get put on kid duty.”

“Should I count that as someone commenting on my body?” Beth asks.

“That doesn’t count!” Steve protests. “Buck, come on, you’re on _my_ side.”

“Steve’s so skinny,” Bucky immediately adds obediently. He winks at Steve and Steve laughs, though Bucky winking _is_ really attractive, even when he’s just being a little shit.

The whole family reunion seems to be everyone sitting around eating. Steve’s never been to a family reunion, so he had no idea what to expect, but on TV families play games and stuff. Right on cue, some tall guy comes over and says,

“Hey, guys! We’re going to start the softball game in twenty minutes, okay? We’ve got gloves and bats and everything so don’t worry if you don’t have your own.”

“Awesome!” Beth cheers, jumping up and jumping onto the guy’s back. “Carry me.”

“Who is that?” Steve checks.

“Marty. He’s Reed’s oldest son, like two years older than me.”

“Reed,” Steve repeats. “He’s…right above your dad?”

“Two above,” Bucky corrects. “David’s right above my dad and they’re only 13 months apart.”

“I need a chart,” Steve says. Bucky laughs and elbows him.

“Hey, you know their names, at least. I don’t even remember the whole order sometimes. All you gotta know is Dad’s the youngest.”

“And they never let him forget it,” Steve remembers. George has said it more than once.

“You wanna play in the softball game?” Bucky asks. “We don’t have to.”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Steve says. “It’ll be fun.”

Bucky looks pained. “Steve…it’s just a family softball game, okay? Can you keep your cool?”

Steve can’t pretend Bucky doesn’t have a valid concern. He _has_ been known to get a bit competitive. Still, he presses a hand theatrically to his chest. “Me?” He asks. “Not keep my cool?” Actually, he doesn’t usually get upset about sports, because he doesn’t really ever play any.

Bucky laughs harder than Steve appreciates. “Alright, come on,” he says when he finally stops. “We better get over there or we’ll end up on Edgar’s team.”

Steve shudders at the thought. They make their way over to the field and Steve says, “How long ago did we put on sunscreen? Should we reapply?”

Bucky makes a big show out of tilting Steve’s face this way and that and examining him. “You don’t look too toasty, but maybe we should to be safe. Don’t know how long the game’s going to last.”

“Yeah, well, you need some too,” Steve reminds him. “ _My_ ears didn’t get burnt at Coney Island last week.”

Bucky glances around. “Uh, yeah, okay.”

Steve doesn’t know why Bucky’s being weird, but he’s obviously feeling anxious because Luna’s suddenly pressing closer into him. Steve’s about to ask him what’s up when he realizes it’s about the sunscreen. Bucky’s not supposed to get greasy lotions in the plates of his metal hand, and Steve made a big fuss about not buying aerosol sunscreen. At home, Steve just did it for Bucky, but out here, with a bunch of people around, Bucky’s feeling self-conscious.

“You want to go to the bathroom?” Steve asks quietly.

Bucky blows out a breath. “No, it’s fine.”

“Sure?” Steve checks, hands covered and ready to go.

“It’s fine.”

Steve raises his eyebrows but doesn’t ask again, instead opting to gently stroke down Bucky’s flesh arm. Once he’s finished, Bucky takes care of his face and the back of his neck himself, one-handed. He wouldn’t wear shorts because of a few scars on his legs, but that’s not too noticeable since Steve’s hiding his knobby, white legs, too.

“Ready?” Steve asks.

“Yeah.” Bucky’s still not meeting his eyes and Steve knows he doesn’t want to make a big deal of it, but he hates seeing Bucky get embarrassed like this. He pops up to his tiptoes so he can kiss Bucky. Immediately, someone wolf-whistles, and someone else yells,

“Get a room!”

“Ah, family,” Bucky jokes. Steve laughs and grabs his hand.

“Let’s go kick their ass at softball.”

Bucky whoops, the anxiousness mostly gone from his face. “You know I will!”

They divide teams by families, which Steve secretly thinks is a little unfair to everyone else considering how stacked that makes their team—Bucky, George, and three other cousins on their team played baseball in high school, and all three of Bucky’s sisters got all-conference honors in softball. Becca had a scholarship to play softball in college before Bucky got captured and she dropped out, and Beth just came off winning the state championship with her team.

Steve’s never exactly been picked first for sports, and he’s absolutely no good at softball. He doesn’t have great depth perception and his hand-eye coordination is certainly nothing to brag about. Luckily, there are so many of them, he’ll mostly be sitting on the metal bench behind the fence.

Bucky and Becca have a bit of a disagreement over who gets to play second base, which Becca wins, so Bucky jogs out to shortstop. “Steve, head out to right!” George calls.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Right field,” George clarifies, like that’s what Steve’s confused about.

“Um…” Steve glances over at the field, where Bailey, on first base, is waving him over. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on,” Winifred cajoles. She’s got full catcher’s gear on and it takes Steve a minute to swallow that. “You’ll do wonderful, sweetie.”

“Don’t worry,” Mark adds. “No one’s going to be able to hit Beth, anyway.” Easy for him to say—he’d happily plopped down onto the bench and declared himself and Ella team cheerleaders.

“I wanna go with Steve!” Jamie cuts in.

“Okay,” George says. “You can share right field.”

“I’ll help you,” Jamie promises.

“Great,” Steve mutters. He’s about to get shown up by a five-year-old. But he lets George pass him a glove and Jamie takes his other hand as they hit the field. Bucky whistles at him and all the kids around them are the only thing stopping Steve from flipping him off. That and the threat of Winifred’s wooden spoon. They may not be in her kitchen, but Steve wouldn’t be the least surprised if she pulled it out of a pocket or something.

“You played right before?” Bucky’s cousin in center field, Eric, asks skeptically when they’re “warming up” by throwing the ball back and forth. Steve’s not a weakling, necessarily, but he hasn’t spent a lot of time playing catch. Eric already moved closer once.

“No,” Steve admits mournfully.

“I have!” Jamie lies enthusiastically. Eric sighs.

“We haven’t won since Bucky went away,” he says. “I’m getting tired of losing.”

Steve bristles a little. Losing a family reunion softball game is absolutely the least of Steve’s worries surrounding Bucky’s time as a POW. But then Eric winks at him, and Steve can never figure out which of Bucky’s family members are assholes or not, so he shrugs it off.

He’s mostly just standing there. Jamie gets bored after about two seconds and sits down in the grass. “I think you’re supposed to stay standing up,” Steve informs him.

“I can catch it down here,” Jamie says confidently. Steve doesn’t have an argument against that. “I told Abby _no_ petting Luna!” Jamie suddenly bursts out, sitting straight up and pointing at where one of the other young cousins is petting Luna. “Luna is to help Bucky and she has a _job_ and you can’t pet her when she’s at her _job_!”

“It’s okay,” Steve soothes him quickly. “Bucky doesn’t need her right now. See, he took off Luna’s vest. So it’s okay to pet her while Bucky’s out here and she’s sitting with Ella and your dad.”

“She’s not a petting dog.”

“Not usually,” Steve agrees. “She works hard and helps Bucky a lot.”

“I wish I had a dog with a job,” Jamie complains. “Mom says no dog ‘cause we live in a aparpment and dogs gotta have backyards but _you_ live in a aparpment so I think dogs with jobs don’t gotta run.”

“Bucky takes Luna running every day,” Steve says. Jamie stands up and puts his hands on his hips.

“Then _I_ could get a dog and go running.”

“I think your mom wants to wait until you’re a little older,” Steve says. He’s saved from any other explanation from the sound of a ball hitting the bat and everyone suddenly cheering. He looks up and sees the ball coming right for them. Oh, shit.

“Jamie, look out!” Steve calls. “The ball’s coming.” How’s he supposed to worry about _catching_ the ball when he’s more worried about the ball hitting this tiny kid in the head? Shouldn’t they be wearing helmets or something?

“I’ll get it!” Jamie says. But he’s obviously afraid, because he backs way off. Steve runs forward a few steps and the ball sails over his head. Oops.

“ _Go get it!_ ” Eric yells. Steve doesn’t think the most charitable thoughts toward him now. It’s not like Steve needed instruction on that, thanks.

“I wanna get it!” Jamie repeats. He runs for the ball. Steve isn’t sure if he should let Jamie get it. If they want to win, he should definitely just grab it himself. It’s not like he’s strong or anything, but he thinks he _might_ have a better throwing arm than Jamie. He sure hopes so.

“Yay, Jamie!” Becca calls encouragingly. Then she raises her eyebrows at Steve like _well?_ Steve obediently runs after the little boy and the ball.

Jamie picks up the ball and throws it directly into the ground, where Steve retrieves it and throws it to Bailey. He actually gets it to her, which is a huge relief, even with the fact that she came all the way into the grass for him. He absolutely does not want to embarrass himself in front of every single one of Bucky’s Barnes family members.

“I did it!” Jamie screams, jumping up and down.

“Good job!” Steve praises. _He_ did it, but he’s not so petty he’s going to correct a five-year-old. Besides, Bucky’s giving him a look across the field that says Steve’s going to get quite the hero’s welcome when they get home, so whatever, Jamie can crow all he wants.

After that, Beth strikes more people out and they get to go back in to hit the ball. George tapes up an old grocery receipt to the fence that lists the order they’re going to bat in. Steve’s all the way at the bottom, so he’s not too worried.

The next time they go into the field, they switch up the positions, so Steve gets to stay on the bench. Jamie sits in his lap, which isn’t the most pleasant experience considering it’s hot and muggy and Jamie’s weirdly sticky, but it’s not the worst experience, either. Jamie has apparently decided he and Steve are a package deal today. Since Jamie usually acts like Bucky walks on water and no one else exists, Steve’s not going to look this gift horse in the mouth. They even spend a few minutes petting Luna, and she doesn’t give Steve any dirty looks or ignore him. She licks the back of his knee and he thinks that’s the most positive response he’s ever gotten from her.

They’ve gone back into the field, with Bucky sitting on the bench this time, when Steve hears a distinct buzzing from the patch of clover at their feet. He looks down and sure enough, there’s a bee. He takes a few steps back.

“Oh, a bee!” Jamie says. “I don’t want to get stung.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Steve agrees. Unfortunately, he doesn’t know enough about kids to anticipate that Jamie saying _I don’t want to get stung_ is going to lead to Jamie swiping his foot through the clover in an attempt to shoo the bee away.

“Don’t!” Steve cries, too late. “Don’t make the bee mad.”

Jamie looks up at Steve while the bee angrily circles them. “Oops.”

Yeah, oops, Steve thinks, and then he feels the jab of pain that means he’s just been stung. Oh boy. Right on the back of his shoulder. Perfect.

Steve takes a long, steady breath, telling himself to stay calm. He’s probably got about two minutes. He brushes the bee away and uses his fingernail to flick the stinger away as best he can, trying to remember if he was supposed to do that or not. “Jamie,” he says evenly. “Run and get Bucky.”

“Why?” Jamie asks.

“I got stung,” Steve says, voice starting to get hoarse. He doesn’t want to run and spread the bee’s venom faster through his body. He can already feel his tongue starting to get heavy in his mouth. “Tell Bucky.”

“We’re playing,” Jamie whines.

“Jamie,” Steve repeats, voice sharper this time. Jamie’s eyes go wide. “Go tell Bucky.”

“Okay,” Jamie says, taking off.

Steve starts to wheeze. He knows he needs to stay calm. Bucky’s got his epi-pen and he’ll come right away. But that all too familiar tightening in his chest is hard to ignore, and the rasp of his closing throat isn’t the easiest thing to block out.

Without warning, Luna starts barking. She streaks out onto the field and stands by Steve, barking her head off, and Bucky stands up. “Steve!” He yells, just as Jamie reaches him.

“Whoa, what happened?” Eric asks, rushing over. Steve holds up a hand. “Hey, time out!” Eric yells unnecessarily. Luna pretty much covered that part. Distantly, Steve realizes that everyone is staring at him, and under different circumstances he’d be mortified. Later, he will be. But he’s a bit preoccupied at the moment.

“Here, sit down,” Eric says, helping Steve down. Steve’s hardly getting any air now, and he’s given up his fight to stay calm. He can’t help it. He’s starting to get dizzy. He can’t _breathe_. “Oh, shit, what happened?” Eric asks, sounding pretty panicked himself. Steve can’t answer. Luna’s howling now.

Bucky comes sprinting over and Eric jumps out of the way. Bucky drops to his knees. “Okay, it’s okay,” Bucky chants. His hand is trembling. “Okay, okay, okay…orange tip down. Outer part of thigh. Hold it in.”

Steve would love to reassure Bucky, but he’s in a bit of a bind himself. Bucky sticks Steve with the epi-pen and Steve feels that jolt in his heart that means it’s working. Bucky keeps rubbing the spot, because he has diligently read the directions once per week since Steve showed him how to use it. He’s always afraid he’s going to forget.

It takes a second, but Steve’s breathing starts to ease. Not completely, but enough that he’s not going to pass out. “Steve,” Bucky says, holding Steve’s face. “Steve?”

Steve coughs. He’s not going to be able to talk for a bit. Bucky’s really shaking now, and Luna can’t seem to decide if she’s going to press her nose against Bucky’s side or Steve’s ribs. Steve’s not sure who’s trembling more, him or Bucky.

“Ambulance?” Bucky asks. Steve shakes his head. “Steve!”

_Drive there_ , Steve signs. He probably could grit that out, but he thinks his raspy voice would scare Bucky more, and he knows from experience it doesn’t feel great. Truth be told, an ambulance probably would be the best idea, but Steve’s pretty sure he’ll be okay with the epi-pen for the ten minutes it’ll take to drive there.

“Okay,” Bucky says, obviously deciding it’ll be easier to just give in and not waste time arguing. He jumps to his feet. “Dad!”

“He’s getting the car,” Winifred reassures them. She’s shaking too. Everyone’s a mess. “He’s pulling it around now.”

_Rescue inhaler_ , Steve requests. Bucky’s got the whole backpack with him, and since that first time Steve couldn’t find his inhaler, Bucky’s got the backpack in a very specific arrangement. He pulls Steve’s inhaler out immediately and holds Steve’s head up while he puffs. He doesn’t necessarily _need_ Bucky holding him up, but it doesn’t feel awful. Besides, he’s allergic to grass, too. Softball may not have been the best idea.

Winifred kneels down beside Steve and brushes the hair off his forehead. “Oh, Steve,” she frets, eyes full of tears. “You just can’t ever have it easy, can you?”

He manages a weak smile and gives her a thumb’s up. Bucky’s whole family is in the field now, most of them backed off enough to give Steve some space, but everyone’s staring at him. Steve wants to hide behind Bucky.

“What happened?” Steve hears someone ask, hushed.

“He’s allergic to bees,” Ann says. “He got stung.”

“Oh, no.”

“Will he be okay?”

“James can’t take any more heartache.”

“He’s fine,” Kay says. “James got him with that pen and he’s going to go straight to the hospital to get checked out. Everybody get back into those dugouts and let the poor boy breathe.”

She herds everyone away and Steve feels a swell of gratitude. The crash from the epi-pen is never pretty. Steve’s definitely going to be throwing up before the day’s over, and very few things are more embarrassing than barfing in front of other people. Bucky’s stroking his thumb along Steve’s jaw, trying to keep him calm, and Steve closes his eyes and relaxes into it. He wouldn’t say he’s tired, what with the epinephrine flooding his system, but he’d like to focus on breathing without seeing everyone’s terrified faces.

“Can you walk?” George asks, appearing over Steve’s head and blotting out the sun with his bald head.

“Don’t try,” Bucky orders. “I’ll carry you.” Steve grunts a little, and Bucky knows him well enough to recognize the protest. “Steve, no, just let me carry you.” He’s still trembling a little, and Steve would rather not be dropped. He shakes his head and Bucky clenches his jaw. As Bucky helps him up, Steve signs _help me_ and puts his arm around Bucky’s neck.

“Fine,” Bucky mutters. “Best I’m gonna get.” If Steve hadn’t had the epi-pen, he’d let Bucky carry him. He wouldn’t have much choice, because he’s be unconscious by now, but still.

They go out the car and Steve has a wild, almost hysterical moment where he thinks _we still did a three-legged race_. He’d laugh if everyone didn’t look so grim and scared. He’s still wheezing, but not as scarily anymore. It’s not that unusual for Steve to wheeze in May, anyway.

“We should’ve had the reunion inside,” Winifred says to George as he weaves in and out of traffic.

“I’ll talk to everyone,” George promises. “Next year we will.”

Steve gives Bucky a pleading look and he strokes the back of Steve’s hand comfortingly. “I’ll talk to them later,” he murmurs. “Let them calm down.”

Steve throws up as soon as the car stops. He’d sigh if he could breathe deep enough. The throwing up is almost worse than the whole closed-airway-suffocation thing. He gets rushed back pretty fast at the hospital when Bucky tells them he was going into anaphylactic shock. It also helps that the intake nurse knows Steve pretty well by now—she’s been working here for years. They get him on a gurney and start to whisk him away.

Steve takes a last look back at Bucky. Bucky’s metal hand, steady as ever, is holding the clipboard with all the forms to fill out, but he’s got his right hand up to his face, chewing at his thumbnail. He’s crying. Steve can’t even comfort himself with the fact that Bucky cries easily. Hospitals are never going to be easy for Bucky.

Sharon’s working. She gets him set up on oxygen and inserts the IV on the first try. He’s grateful for that; Steve doesn’t have great veins, and sometimes it’s a bit of a job. He’ll never forget the time he was fourteen and the nurse’s million attempts to insert the IV left him with bruises all up and down his arm. His mother was displeased, to put it lightly. Not only was it someone doing a poor job of something Sarah could do herself, but it was someone making Steve’s life harder.

Steve swallows, trying not to focus too much on thinking about his mother. Being in the hospital is awful. And being in the hospital for an allergic reaction is even worse. This has only happened to him two other times, and he can’t even remember the first time. It hasn’t happened since his mom died.

Sharon squeezes his hand. “Doing alright?” Steve just shrugs. He wants Bucky. Sharon keeps hold of his hand. “The doctor’s going to be in any minute,” she says. “And then when Bucky finishes the paperwork he can come in, too. Okay? Don’t stress.”

Steve gives her a flat look and she laughs at him. It does relax him some, though. Nice to know that whatever dumb thing lands Steve in the hospital, Sharon will be there to mock him for it.

The doctor comes in and checks Steve over. He’s the same one from Steve’s last pneumonia visit, and he puts his hands on his hips when he sees Steve. “No offense,” he starts, “but I’d rather not see you this often.”

Steve laughs and nods. He’d really rather not be here. His throat’s feeling better, but he doesn’t really want to talk. His injection’s starting to wear off. He’s worried he’s going to swell up again, but the doctor checks him over and says he looks alright.

“You know I’m going to keep you tonight for observation,” he says. “You already have an at-risk respiratory system, and I want to keep an eye on your heart, too. Sorry. I know this isn’t your favorite place.” He looks around. “Husband?”

“Waiting for his cue,” Steve says. The doctor makes a face at the sound of his voice.

“Try not to talk too much,” he says. And of course Bucky walks in right then. Steve’s ready for a joke, but he should’ve known better. Bucky’s way too freaked out for a joke right now. He comes up close and grabs Steve’s hand, Luna at his side. The doctor looks down at her, but she’s got her service vest on and Steve’s not really at risk for infection or anything like that. He has the room to himself. Steve hopes Bucky didn’t have to fight the nurses too much on it. He was already stressed enough.

“Everything okay?” Bucky asks desperately.

“Looks fine,” the doctor assures him. “Well, you know, relatively. We’re going to keep him overnight and watch his antihistamine dose. Maybe some nebulizer treatments for when you go home—depends how you’re doing in the morning, okay?”

Steve nods. He’s getting tired now. The doctor leaves, and Bucky leans down to rest his head against Steve’s. “I know you’re not weak, but is there any way I could convince you to wear one of those bubble suits whenever we leave the house?” Bucky asks weakly.

Steve growls at him. Bucky manages a tiny smile and gently presses their lips together, careful around Steve’s cannula. “Hey, at least they didn’t tube you,” Bucky points out. His hand is still shaking a bit. Steve brushes a hand through Bucky’s hair, which is an absolute disaster. It’s long enough for a bun again, but the helmet he’d worn during the game wrecked it and he’s obviously been pulling at it. It’s all tangled and ratted. Bucky pulls the chair over and sits down, still leaning forward into Steve so far he’s practically on top of him.

“I really do not like hearing you wheeze like that,” Bucky whispers. “Scared the shit out of me.” _Sorry_ , Steve signs. Bucky shakes his head. “Not like it’s your fault,” he says. He sighs a little and strokes his hand on Steve’s elbow. “I’m so glad we had the epi-pen. Can’t imagine how bad it must’ve been the first time it happened. And you were little, weren’t you?”

 _Two_ , Steve confirms. He doesn’t remember any of it, but he knows his mom didn’t sleep properly for…probably the rest of her life, worrying about him. Not that she wasn’t already losing sleep worrying about him before that. He was not an easy child, even without counting all his medical problems.

Bucky finds Steve’s hand and laces their fingers together. “You must’ve been so small,” he says, eyes out of focus. “Tiny little guy choking and crying. God.” He’s got tears in his eyes again as he imagines it.

If Steve weren’t currently in the hospital with oxygen being pumped into his nose, he might think it’s kind of funny how upset Bucky’s getting from something that happened nearly three decades ago. But Steve’s always emotional when he’s in the hospital, and he thinks it definitely _must_ have been scary, for both Sarah and Steve. Steve still freaks out about it now, when he knows what’s happening. He can’t imagine his toddler-self stayed calm. And his mother, having to watch that? Must’ve been a nightmare.

 _I’m okay_ , Steve signs. _You moved fast._

Bucky kisses Steve’s knuckles. “Glad I didn’t freak out and go catatonic.” He sniffs. Luna puts her front legs up on the bed and rests her head on her paws, right by Steve’s face. He reaches over and scratches her ears.

“Looks like you finally won her over,” Bucky says. “All it took was a horrific medical emergency.” He’s trying so hard to stay light and joking, Steve can tell, but it’s not exactly working. Steve smiles, though.

 _Finally_ , he says. _Worth it._

Bucky snorts. “Take it easy.”

It doesn’t take long before Sam and Riley get there. Sam rubs Steve’s shoulder and teases, “On the plus side, you can’t talk much.”

Steve flips him off. Riley leans down and gives him a tight hug, because he’s barely any better in hospitals than Bucky. Then Natasha and Clint walk in, quickly followed by Morita, Dugan, and Dernier. They’re immediately followed by Sharon.

“No way, guys, come on,” she scolds. “I’ll give you four at a time.”

“Do I count as one?” Bucky asks.

Sharon hesitates, glancing over one shoulder. “Fine, no. Four plus you. But you better be quiet.”

Bucky salutes her, and then the three Commandos do too, as they file out of the room. “Don’t hog him,” Dugan says, pointing at Sam. “You’ve known him longer so you got him to yourself for a while.”

“I’ll take my damn time,” Sam shoots back. Dugan flips him off and leaves.

 _Thanks for coming_ , Steve signs. _I’m fine_.

“Totally fine,” Natasha mocks. “Going into anaphylactic shock? Just a regular Saturday.”

“Well, for Steve it basically is,” Clint points out.

“Hey, he hasn’t gone into anaphylactic shock the whole time I’ve known him,” Sam defends Steve. “If you’d said passing out, well, that I’d agree with.”

“Or getting into a fight,” Natasha says.

“Steve!” Riley scolds. “Did you try to fight a bee?”

“I’m sure the bee probably used a homophobic slur,” Sam says.

They all laugh and Steve rolls his eyes. Downright rude is what it is. He’s in the hospital after nearly dying but sure, they can mock him. It’s making Bucky smile, though, so he can’t get too bent out of shape.

“Staying overnight?” Sam asks.

“Yep, maybe longer, depending how he does,” Bucky says. Steve raises his hands, ready to protest, and Bucky shakes his head. “You can’t just stubborn your way into open airways, Steve.”

“But if anyone could, I’m sure it’d be you,” Riley assures him.

“Is anyone getting your stuff from your house?” Natasha asks. “We should’ve gone there first, probably.”

“I didn’t even think of that,” Bucky admits. “It was all…a bit of a blur.”

Sam gives him a careful look. “You doing alright?”

“I’m under control,” Bucky promises. “Luna’s got my back.” She’s sitting at his feet, ready to comfort him as need be. Clint has a bit of an obsession with Luna, mostly because she looks a lot like Lucky. He’s convinced he can train Lucky to be a service dog, too, but Lucky is a bit resistant to training. Steve’s definitely seen him comfort Clint when he needs it, though.

“We’ll head out and let those guys have a turn,” Sam says. “I think Gabe just got here, too.”

“Did anyone tell Peggy?” Natasha asks.

“She never responded to my text,” Bucky says. Steve sticks a hand in the air to get everyone’s attention.

 _She’s in California_. He tries not to notice the little twitch Bucky gives off when Steve reveals he knows where Peggy is. They’ll have to talk about that later.

“Oh, that’s right,” Natasha says. “She left this morning and won’t be back for a week.”

“I told Angie,” Bucky says. Steve squeezes his hand. He knows Peggy’s still a bit of a sore spot for Bucky, and he’s grateful every time Bucky sets that aside for Steve. They swap out visitors, and Sharon sticks her head again when the four Commandos are inside.

“You make too much noise and you’re out,” she threatens.

“Yes, ma’am,” Dugan says obediently. As soon as she leaves, he pulls out his phone. “Falsy’s having a stroke waiting to see you.”

Monty’s back in England, and it takes a few seconds for Dugan to pull up the video chat. “Steve!” Monty shouts. “Are you alright?”

Steve holds up a thumb’s up. “He can’t talk,” Bucky reports. “But his oxygen’s getting better and they’re keeping him for observation.”

“And you, Sarge?” Monty checks. “Need to change your drawers?”

Bucky barks out a surprised laugh. “Possibly.”

“No one can blame you for that,” Morita says.

“You ever thought of bubble wrap?” Dugan asks. “Just all around your whole body, maybe.” Steve gives him a dirty look.

“Then the bee would pop the bubble when he tries to sting you,” Gabe says, laughing at the mental image. “And Barnes would still shit his pants from the noise.”

“Remember the balloon?” Dernier adds. They all laugh and Bucky makes a face.

“I have severe PTSD,” he reminds everyone. “Excuse me if I have a hard time with sudden noises and my husband nearly dying.”

Morita waves a hand around. “Preaching to the choir, Sarge. No sympathy here.”

“Right,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes and smiling at Steve. “No sympathy.”

They don’t stay very long, because Winifred, George, and the girls show up soon after. Steve’s starting to fade, but he tries to keep himself going. He’s mostly used to stuff like this by now, but he knows they’re not. They just want to make sure he’s okay. Sam and Riley promise to drop by Steve and Bucky’s to get their meds and clothes to change into.

“Oh, Steve,” Winifred says, coming over to take over holding his hand. Bucky doesn’t give up the spot very willingly, but he’s nothing if not a mama’s boy.

 _I’m fine_ , he reassures her. He does get tired of that phrase when he’s in the hospital. He knows if he said that out loud, Bucky would insist, _not as much as_ I _do when you’re in the hospital_.

“Did they give you another prescription for a new epi-pen?” George asks. “Google said they should. You shouldn’t leave without another one, to replace the one you used. It could happen again.”

“Dad, we’ll get it,” Bucky says.

“If you have the prescription, I can take it to get filled right now,” Winifred insists. “Then you won’t have to wait.”

Their concern is starting to press on Steve. Something must show on his face, because Bucky bites his lip. “When the doctor gives it to us, I can take it downstairs. We will not leave this hospital without an epi-pen, alright? You guys should go back to the reunion.”

“No way!” Bailey protests. “Steve almost died!”

 _There’s really nothing to do here_ , Steve signs. None of them can follow him fast enough and Bucky interprets. _I’m probably going to fall asleep soon_.

“Are you sure?” Winifred asks, fussing with the edge of his pillows. She holds her hand to his cheek and it’s soothing, more soothing than he was expecting. He closes his eyes. He’s really starting to crash.

“Ma, he’s real tired,” Bucky says softly. “Head back out there for a few hours, and you can check in on your way home, okay? I’ll tell you if anything changes.”

“Alright,” Winifred says uncertainly. She leans down and kisses Steve’s forehead. “We love you, Steve. We’re so grateful it wasn’t worse.”

 _Thank you_ , Steve signs. _Love you_.

George pats his hand, and Bailey gives him a hug. Beth leans in close. “I guess you won,” she admits. “After you left, all _anybody_ was talking about was how skinny and frail you are.”

Steve laughs, but he immediately argues, _I’m not frail_!

Beth gives him a fake-pitying look. “Says the guy who got taken down by a bee.”

Bucky blows out a breath. “Kinda funny, but kinda not,” he weighs in. She punches his shoulder and he gives her noogie, so she finally runs out after their parents. Just when Steve thinks they’re alone, Becca pokes her head in.

“Steve?” She sounds uncertain. “Can Jamie come in? I know you’re tired—just for a second. He’s…worried.” Steve nods and Bucky waves Becca in. Jamie’s clinging to her leg, sobbing.

“Baby, look, Steve’s okay,” Becca soothes. She picks Jamie up and carries him over to the bed. Fat tears are clinging to Jamie’s eyelashes.

“You’re okay?” Jamie checks. Steve’s definitely not going to try talking to him. He doesn’t _sound_ very okay. He gives what feels like the thousandth thumb’s up of the day.

“Steve can’t talk right now,” Bucky tells him. “But look, he’s alright. You want to fist bump?”

Jamie obligingly holds up his fist for Steve to bump. Becca leans over so Jamie can leave a wet, sloppy kiss on Steve’s cheek.

“Bees are mean,” Jamie says solemnly. Steve shakes his head. Bucky sighs a little, but he knows Steve well enough to know what Steve wants to say.

“Bees don’t know better,” he says dutifully. “They’re scared of humans.”

“They are?” Jamie asks. “They hurt people.”

“But we’re a lot bigger than they are,” Bucky points out. “So they get scared.”

“Okay,” Jamie says.

“We’re going to go back to the park now,” Becca tells Jamie. “We’ll see Steve and Bucky later, okay? Say bye-bye.”

“Bye,” Jamie says mournfully. Becca rolls her eyes a little at his tone, but gives Steve a smile.

“Glad you’re okay,” she adds, touching his shoulder. “Quit scaring us, would ya? We plan to keep you.”

Steve forces a smile and nods. She pats Bucky’s shoulder on her way out and Steve covers his eyes with a hand once she’s gone.

“Sorry,” Bucky murmurs. “That was a lot of people all at once.”

 _It’s fine_ , Steve assures him. He’s not even sure why he’s suddenly so annoyed. Bucky looks at him for a minute, and Steve wants to tell him to knock it off. Luckily, signing requires a bit of thought, so he stops himself. It’d be great if he could keep from putting his foot in his mouth right now. Bucky’s having a bad enough day without Steve taking everything out on him.

“So, uh, that was scary, huh?” Bucky tries. Steve can’t quite hold in his icy look. Duh. Bucky shrugs. “I mean. You think you’re sort of in shock, maybe?”

 _No_ , Steve signs immediately. Then he pauses. Well, he might be. Bucky doesn’t say anything, and Steve takes stock. Now that’s safe, for the most part, he’s annoyed with everyone and just wants to be left alone so he can lie there in the dark and breathe and not worry about scaring anyone.

 _Maybe_ , he admits. _Adrenaline crash, too._

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “And you just keep telling everyone you’re fine instead of, you know, dealing with it.”

Steve gives him a pointed look and Bucky huffs. “One of us has been going to therapy regularly, you know, so you don’t get to act like I’m being a hypocrite. This is not a _do as I say, not as I do_ situation. I’m working on doing it.”

Steve nods. He’s just so damn tired now. Tired from the day, from everything that happened plus the stress of Bucky’s huge family, but also tired of his body failing on him at regular intervals. He’s sick to death of hospitals and medicine and doctors. He hates it.

His eyes fill up with tears despite his best efforts. _Why do I have to be so weak?_

“Stop,” Buck admonishes. “Weak? Shit, Steve, I don’t know anyone who could deal with half the stuff you do. Okay? I know you feel weak because you end up here _way_ too often, and I know you’re going to roll your eyes when I say this, but you’re the strongest person I know.”

Steve does roll his eyes. The strongest person Bucky knows. Yeah, right. Luckily, Bucky knows him well enough not to push it. He sighs and leans forward, resting his head on Steve’s arm.

“Rest, okay? I know you don’t have much choice. But let me pretend like I’m taking care of you.” His voice isn’t as strong as he’d probably like it to be. Steve feels guilty again. He’s always dragging Bucky back to the hospital, his least favorite place on the planet.

Steve reaches over and puts his hand on Bucky’s head. Bucky flinches, just for a second, before he settles. Steve should’ve known better, probably, but he assumed Bucky was ready when he was sitting like that. Either way, it’s okay now. Steve’s eyelids are heavy, his muscles feel weak, and Bucky is warm and breathing steadily beside him. Well, sort of beside him. Steve wrenches his eyes open as far as he can and taps Bucky’s head to get him to look up.

 _My feet are cold_ , he says, crooking his lips up as a peace offering. Bucky smiles at him and sits up, starts kicking off his shoes. He climbs in beside Steve, Luna whuffing suspiciously at them, and wraps Steve in his arms. Steve’s felt pretty irritable for the last half hour or so, but he can’t help the way he melts into Bucky. No matter what happens, no matter how weak Steve feels or how annoyed he is with the world or his own shortcomings, Bucky’s here for him.

Bucky brushes his feet against Steve’s, keeping him warm, keeping him _safe_ , and Steve closes his eyes and goes to sleep.

 

There was no way Steve and Bucky were getting out of George and Winifred picking them up from the hospital, so neither of them had fought it. Bucky’s getting the door open and Steve’s obediently resting against the railing. Really, Steve should’ve expected what’s waiting for them inside. They’d let their friends inside while they were gone.

The first thing Steve sees when Bucky opens the door is a giant, paper bumblebee over the TV. It’s inelegantly cut, meaning Clint must’ve done it, and the thick black stripes on the body are glitter, most likely courtesy of Riley. He blinks. There’s another one on the wall behind the couch, and at least one in the kitchen. Bucky looks bemused.

“Seriously?” He asks flatly.

Steve can’t help it—he laughs a little bit. Their friends are absolutely ridiculous. There are paper bees _covering_ their apartment—one’s a piñata. Behind him, Winifred snorts.

“This is not funny,” she says through laughter.

Steve thinks it’s kind of funny, until Bucky _cackles_. That can’t be good. Sure enough, Bucky emerges from their bedroom holding up—Steve glares.

It’s an entire roll of bubble wrap. There’s a note on it in Dugan’s messy handwriting. _Just think about it_.

Bucky’s grin is way too wide. “Aw, Steve, c’mon, they just love you,” he says. “They want you to be safe.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” he says. He’s going to give Dugan a piece of mind when he sees him next. But he does laugh. It’s completely ridiculous, but it also fills his chest with warmth. His friends are so stupid. But he can’t deny, they definitely do love him. Bucky grins when he sees Steve relenting. He thinks he’s in the clear enough to wrap Steve’s arm in bubble wrap.

Steve pops a bubble, looking directly at Bucky when he does it. Bucky rolls his eyes and jumps, exaggerated, and Steve laughs. Yeah, alright. His friends have a weird way of showing they care, but he gets it. He prickles against their concern sometimes, mostly because he needs it so often. But at the end of the day, Steve counts himself lucky to be loved as much as he is.


	19. a mother knows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *insert Mushu I LIVE gif here* I'm so sorry it's been nearly a year since I've written an extra, but here is some dramatic Bucky discussing his feelings with his amused mother.

Winifred finds herself home alone on a Wednesday night. George went out with some of his brothers for what they pretend is a corporate meeting but is actually a night of drinking and arguing over embellished childhood stories and Beth’s out with her softball team pulling pranks on the baseball team. Jamie and Ella were over earlier while Becca was at work, but they’re gone now. Quiet nights alone are not something Winifred’s gotten used to over the last twenty-five years.

Sure, kids get older and leave during the day, but they would always come home after school. Now she’s got three out of the house and only one chick left in the roost. She remembers thinking these days would never come, that they’d be little and screaming and fighting forever, that her whole life would always be peanut-butter handprints on just-cleaned walls and days where it felt like she was more chauffer than mother. She prayed for these days sometimes, when stomach bugs tore through the house and went back around a second time, when James started going through puberty and became unbearable and moody, when Becca cut off her own bangs and gave Bailey a trim, too.

But now here Winifred is, alone in the darkening family room, silence all around her so she can hear every tick of the clock, and she swallows against a lump in her throat because her heart aches for when they were little. She threw herself, delightedly, into being their mother, and she’s been feeling steadily more useless over the years.

As if he heard her calling to him, James comes tromping through the front door. She can tell it’s him just from the way he opens the door, somehow. Winifred does not have a favorite child, no matter what her children say, but she and James have always had something of a special relationship. He’s her firstborn, the one who made her a mother to begin with, and he’s her only son. There are things she’ll always share with her daughters, and she cherishes her girls, but James will always be her baby boy. She’s still convinced he came back from the dead because he knew she couldn’t bear to live without him.

“Ma?” He calls out.

“Down here,” she answers, blinking hard to make sure he doesn’t see her melancholy. He comes down the stairs loudly. He always did. When he was a teenager, he used to jump up and touch the wall above the bottom stair no matter how many times she told him to stop.

“What are you doing?” He asks, looking at the dark TV. “Just sitting here in the dark?” He flips on the light. “That’s weird, Ma.”

“I was here before it got dark,” she says. “What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

His face tightens a little and she could kick herself. He hates that she always thinks something’s wrong with him, she knows that, but she can’t help it. When you’ve had a very solemn man in dress blues inform you no one knows where your son is but they’re mostly sure he’s dead, you don’t forget it in a hurry.

“I’m fine,” he huffs. “I just had to get away from Steve.”

“I thought you and Steve were getting along,” Winifred says neutrally. _Getting along_ , her foot. James is over the moon for that boy.

James flops dramatically onto the sofa and looks all of sixteen years old. Winifred hides a smile, especially when he adds a huge, gusting sigh. “We are,” he admits. “But…” He sighs again. “It’s hard to be around him sometimes.”

Now Winifred is positively dying inside. Her _child_. She knows that she cannot push him into anything, and on a more serious note he’s not in the best condition to be jumping into a romantic relationship, but she can’t believe how…how… _obtuse_ he’s being about it all.

“Why’s that?” She asks, managing to stay completely straight-faced. Honestly, she deserves an Oscar. She’s acted around her kids before, strong when she was feeling weak, angry when their mischief was hilarious, but this is by far her greatest work.

“Mom, I…” James swallows hard and she’s suddenly not amused in the slightest. He’s distraught, biting at his lower lip and clenching his hands into tight fists. The metal one makes a soft noise every time he opens and closes it. It took her weeks to be able to look at the thing, and now she hardly notices it except for things like that.

“Honey, what is it?” She presses gently.

“I think I’m…I…” James is starting to breathe faster and Winifred goes into high alert. It looks like he’s having an anxiety attack. A flashback, maybe? She’s up out of her chair and kneeling in front of him before he can finish his sentence.

“Breathe, baby,” she says softly.

James blinks. “Oh. No, Ma, I’m fine.” He manages a sheepish little half-smile as he scrambles off the couch to help her up. “Thanks.”

Winifred breathes out harshly. “What is this, late teenage angst?”

He laughs and sits back down on the couch like a normal person. “Possibly.”

“Because you’re in love with Steve?”

James snaps his head over to look at her. “Wh—no! I’m not…I mean, _love_? No. I—I might…have a little _crush_ or something, but…”

Winifred tuts at him. “James.”

He slumps on the couch cushion until his neck’s swallowed up by his hunched shoulders. “It can’t be love if it’s one-sided,” he mutters.

Winifred finally lets herself laugh out loud. It’s probably not very kind of her to laugh at her baby boy when he’s clearly in pain, but his dramatics are putting her over the top. Besides, if she thought he was being obtuse about his own feelings, it’s clearly nothing to how he’s seeing Steve’s. Because there’s no doubt in Winifred’s mind—Steve is as head-over-heels for James as James is for him.

“James,” she says. “You know I love you with my whole heart and I would do anything to make sure you’re happy.”

“Yes,” he answers suspiciously when she looks at him promptingly.

“But you are being an idiot right now.”

His mouth drops open in shock. “An idiot?”

“Oh, baby,” she murmurs. “First off, it can absolutely be love even if it’s one-sided. Maybe it’s not the deepest love it could be, but you’re _living_ with him. Of course you can be feeling real love. But James, really, you think it’s one-sided?”

James furrows his brow. “I’m not saying he doesn’t care about me. Obviously he does. We’re—well, we’re best friends by now. But that’s not the same thing as being…as feeling that way about me.”

He really believes that. Winifred could drop _her_ mouth open in shock. Not three days ago, she and George were lying in bed laughing at how obvious those boys are for each other. And here James is, not believing it for a second. Not letting himself believe, probably.

“I don’t want his pity,” James adds, very quietly, and Winifred’s heart breaks. She hates what happened to James, of course, but she also hates how it’s changed him. Her boy was confident ranging on cocky his whole life, happy to swagger into the spotlight any chance he got. But now he’s a young man who would like nothing more than to hide in a corner. He has a hard time believing anyone who meets him now, who isn’t beholden to their image of _Bucky_ from before his capture, actually wants to be around him. If Winifred could, she’d go back and kill all those terrorists herself.

She reaches over and squeezes his hand. “James,” she says. She waits until he looks up at her. “You are caring and funny and everyone around you loves you. Steve doesn’t want to be your friend because of pity. He wants to be your friend because you’re you.”

“Friends are different than…” James shrugs.

A part of Winifred is ready to laugh at him again. They had dinner with the whole family a few days ago and Steve was practically ready to hand-feed James. But this isn’t actually about Steve, she realizes. This is about James. This is about her son not thinking he’s _worth_ Steve’s love.

Again, she thinks: terrorists, die.

Winifred takes her time weighing her words. James has never been one to accept empty platitudes, and that’s only gotten stronger since his capture. Not that her reassurances are empty platitudes—there is no force on Earth that could convince her any of her children are anything other than wonderful and borderline perfect, even when they’re being horrific little shits—but just telling him he’s worth love isn’t going to magically make him believe it. He goes to those VA meetings to talk to therapists and help with all that. She learned pretty quickly after he got home that a hug and a kiss and her love couldn’t magically fix things anymore. It was a hard pill to swallow. She’s still swallowing it, actually.

She takes his hand. “You listen to me,” she says firmly. “No matter what else happens in this world, and no matter who you love and who loves you or who doesn’t love you, let’s get one thing straight.”

“What?” He asks, voice all trembly. She ignores it, because she knows he hates how easily he cries. He’s always been a sensitive kid, quick to cry, but he could hold himself to shiny eyes if he needed to. Now he has trouble holding back sobs over a broken plate.

“I love you,” she says, tapping a finger against his hand. “I will always love you. And if I have to fight Steve Rogers for not loving you, I will do it.”

James lets out a watery little laugh. “Come on, Ma, that’s not a fair fight.” He sniffs. “I’ll get over it.”

“Hmm,” Winifred says noncommittally. James gives her a dark look.

“Ma.”

She raises her hands in defeat. “I don’t think it’s as one-sided as you think, but okay. Zipping my lips and keeping my thoughts to myself.”

James bites his lip some more and takes the bait just like she knew he would. “What do you mean? What makes you think it isn’t one-sided?”

Winifred raises her eyebrows. “Now you want my opinion?”

“Mother,” he says, exasperated. “I always want your opinion.”

She preens a little, even if he’s mostly just trying to flatter her into talking. “He dotes on you, James.”

“He’s a good person. And anyway, you _hired_ him to help me.”

That makes her wince a little. Hiring her son a husband was a good idea, she’ll stand by that to her grave, but when he phrases it like that it does seem sort of…unethical.

“He laughs at all your jokes,” Winifred points out.

James looks offended. “Are you saying I’m not funny or something?”

Winifred laughs at that. “And this one’s going to annoy you because there’s no real measurement for it, but…” She shrugs. “The way he looks at you.”

Predictably, James sighs. “You can’t actually tell,” he says grumpily. Winifred shakes her head and doesn’t bother arguing. There’s no getting through to him when he gets in these moods.

“Okay,” she says simply. James watches her suspiciously for a second, but she doesn’t go on. He settles back onto the couch and picks up the remote.

“What do you normally watch?” He asks, turning on the TV.

“I don’t know,” she admits. “You know I don’t watch much TV.”

“Ma, look, Becca got Netflix all set up for you and everything. You can watch movies and shows. And you’ve got like four hundred channels.” He acts like she doesn’t know how to work her own damn electronics. Okay, yes, Jamie has to help her get to Netflix sometimes, but it’s not like she doesn’t understand the basic principles.

“Oh, Ma, look!” James says. “Is that Tom Selleck?”

That certainly gets her attention. George tried growing a mustache for a little while, back when the kids were little, but he could never get past the itchy phase and Winifred finally told him she married George Barnes, not Tom Selleck, and he could quit trying to merge the two.

So she sits in her chair with her oldest baby on the couch laughing at the old special effects and nursing a bruised—she refuses to believe it’s broken—heart, and she thinks maybe the part where her kids grow up might not be so bad after all. As long as they keep coming back, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr](http://biblionerd07.tumblr.com)


End file.
